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c         ^tllBKARY<9/ 


THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 


GRACE  LIVINGSTON   HILL'S 

Charming  and  Wholesome  Romances 

The  City  of  Fire 
The  Girl  from  Montana 
The  Story  of  a  Whim 
The  Tryst 
Exit  Betty 
Cloudy  Jewel 
The  Search 
'The  Red  Signal 
The  Enchanted  Barn 
The  Finding  of  Jasper  Holt 
The  Obsession  of  Victoria  Gracen 
Miranda 
The  Best  Man 
Lo,  Michael ! 
Marcia  Schuyler 
Phoebe  Deane 
Dawn  of  the  Morning 
The  Mystery  of  Mary 


THE  GIRL  FROM 
MONTANA 


By 
Grace  Livingston  Hill 

(.Mrs.  Lutz) 

Author  of  "Marcia  Schuyler,"  "Lo,  Michaell* 
"The  Tryst,"  etc. 


Philadelphia  and  London 
J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 


COPTBIQHT,  1907  AND  1908,  BT  THE  GOLDEN  BULB  COMPANT 
C0F7B10HT)  1922,  BT  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANT 


PKINTED  BT  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANT 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PBBS8 

PHILADELPHIA,  TT.  S.  A. 


PS 


Zi 


//55"/^ 


S)eMcatc&  to 

MISS  VIRGINIA  COWAN 

OF   COWAN,    MONTANA,   WHOSE   BRIGHT,   BREEZY 

LETTERS   AIDED    ME    IN   WRITING   OF 

ELIZABETH'S    EXPERIENCES 

IN   THE    WEST 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    Tee  Girl,  and  a  Great  Peril 9 

II.    The  Flight 19 

III.    The  Pursuit 33 

rV.    The  Two  Fugitives 46 

V.    A  Night  Ride 56 

VI.  A  Christian  Endeavor  Meeting  in  the  Wilderness  66 

VII.    Bad  News 83 

VEIL    The  Parting 93 

rX.    In  A  Trap 104 

X.    Philadelphia  at  Last 117 

XI.    In  Flight  Again ^ . ._. 132 

Xll.    Elizabeth  s  Declaration  of  Independence 140 

XIII.  Another  Grandmother 150 

XIV.  In  A  New  World 164 

XV.    An  Eventful  Picnic 174 

XVI.    Alone  Again 187 

XVII.    A  Final  Flight  and  Pursuit 197 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   GIRL,   AND   A   GREAT   PERIL 

The  late  afternoon  sun  was  streaming  in  across  the 
cabin  floor  as  the  girl  stole  around  the  corner  and  looked 
cautiously  in  at  the  door. 

There  was  a  kind  of  tremulous  courage  in  her  face. 
She  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  she  was  resolved  to  do  it 
without  delay.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand  from 
the  glare  of  the  sun,  set  a  firm  foot  upon  the  threshold, 
and,  with  one  wild  glance  around  to  see  whether  all  was 
as  she  had  left  it,  entered  her  home  and  stood  for  a  moment 
shuddering  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

A  long  procession  of  funerals  seemed  to  come  out  of 
the  past  and  meet  her  eye  as  she  looked  about  upon  the 
signs  of  the  primitive,  unhallowed  one  which  had  just 
gone  out  from  there  a  little  while  before. 

The  girl  closed  her  eyes,  and  pressed  their  hot,  dry  lids 
hard  with  her  cold  fingers;  but  the  vision  was  clearer  even 
than  with  her  eyes  open. 

She  could  see  the  tiny  baby  sister  lying  there  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  so  little  and  white  and  pitiful;  and 
her  handsome,  careless  father  sitting  at  the  head  of  the 
rude  home-made  coffin,  sober  for  the  moment;  and  her 
tired,  disheartened  mother,  faded  before  her  time,  dry- 
eyed  and  haggard,  beside  him.  But  that  was  long  ago, 
almost  at  the  beginning  of  things  for  the  girl. 

There  had  been  other  funerals,  the  little  brother  who 
had  been  drowned  while  playing  in  a  forbidden  stream, 

9 


10  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

and  the  older  brother  who  had  gone  off  in  search  of  gold 
or  his  own  way,  and  had  crawled  back  parched  with  fever 
to  die  in  his  mother's  arms.  But  those,  too,  seemed  long 
ago  to  the  girl  as  she  stood  in  the  empty  cabin  and  looked 
fearfully  about  her.  They  seemed  almost  blotted  out 
by  the  last  three  that  had  crowded  so  close  within  the 
year.  The  father,  who  even  at  his  worst  had  a  kind 
word  for  her  and  her  mother,  had  been  brought  home 
mortally  hurt  —  an  encounter  with  wild  cattle,  a  fall 
from  his  horse  in  a  treacherous  place  —  and  had  never 
roused  to  consciousness  again. 

At  all  these  funerals  there  had  been  a  solemn  service, 
conducted  by  a  travelling  preacher  when  one  happened 
to  be  within  reach,  and,  when  there  was  none,  by  the 
trembling,  determined,  untaught  lips  of  the  white-faced 
mother.  The  mother  had  always  insisted  upon  it, 
especially  upon  a  prayer.  It  had  seemed  like  a  charm  to 
help  the  departed  one  into  some  kind  of  a  pitiful  heaven. 

And  when,  a  few  months  after  the  father,  the  mother 
had  drooped  and  grown  whiter  and  whiter,  till  one  day 
she  clutched  at  her  heart  and  lay  down  gasping,  and  said: 
''Good-by,  Bess!  Mother's  good  girl!  Don't  forget!" 
and  was  gone  from  her  life  of  burden  and  disappointment 
forever,  the  girl  had  prepared  the  funeral  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  one  brother  left.  The  girl's  voice  had  uttered 
the  prayer,  ''Our  Father,'^  just  as  her  mother  had 
taught  her,  because  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it ;  and  she 
was  afraid  to  send  the  wild  young  brother  off  after  a 
preacher,  lest  he  should  not  return  in  time. 

It  was  six  months  now  since  the  sad  funeral  train  had 
wound  its  way  among  sage-brush  and  grease  wood,  and 
the  body  of  the  mother  had  been  laid  to  rest  beside  her 
husband.     For  six  months  the  girl  had  kept  the  cabin  in 


THE   GIRL,    AND    A   GREAT  PERIL  11 

order,  and  held  as  far  as  possible  the  wayward  brother 
to  his  work  and  home.  But  within  the  last  few  weeks  he 
had  more  and  more  left  her  alone,  for  a  day,  and  some- 
times more,  and  had  come  home  in  a  sad  condition  and 
with  bold,  merry  companions  who  made  her  life  a  constant 
terror.  And  now,  but  two  short  days  ago,  they  had 
brought  home  his  body  lying  across  his  own  faithful 
horse,  with  two  shots  through  his  heart.  It  was  a 
drunken  quarrel,  they  told  her;  and  all  were  sorry,  but  no 
one  seemed  responsible. 

They  had  been  kind  in  their  rough  way,  those  com- 
panions of  her  brother.  They  had  stayed  and  done  all 
that  was  necessary,  had  dug  the  grave,  and  stood  about 
their  comrade  in  good-natured  grimness,  marching  in 
order  about  him  to  give  the  last  look;  but,  when  the 
sister  tried  to  utter  the  prayer  she  knew  her  mother 
would  have  spoken,  her  throat  refused  to  make  a  sound, 
and  her  tongue  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  She 
had  taken  sudden  refuge  in  the  little  shed  that  was  her 
own  room,  and  there  had  stayed  till  the  rough  com- 
panions had  taken  away  the  still  form  of  the  only  one 
left  in  the  family  circle. 

In  silence  the  funeral  train  wound  its  way  to  the  spot 
where  the  others  were  buried.  They  respected  her  tear- 
less grief,  these  great,  passionate,  uncontrolled  young 
men.  They  held  in  the  rude  jokes  with  which  they  would 
have  taken  the  awesomeness  from  the  occasion  for  them- 
selves, and  for  the  most  part  kept  the  way  silently  and 
gravely,  now  and  then  looking  back  with  admiration  to 
the  slim  girl  with  the  stony  face  and  unblinking  eyes  who 
followed  them  mechanically.  They  had  felt  that  some 
one  ought  to  do  something;  but  no  one  knew  exactly 
what,  and  so  they  walked  silently. 


12  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

Only  one,  the  hardest  and  boldest,  the  ringleader  of  the 
company,  ventured  back  to  ask  whether  there  was  any- 
thing he  could  do  for  her,  anything  she  would  like  to  have 
done;  but  she  answered  him  coldly  with  a  "No!"  that  cut 
him  to  the  quick.  It  had  been  a  good  deal  for  him  to  do, 
this  touch  of  gentleness  he  had  forced  himself  into.  He 
turned  from  her  with  a  wicked  gleam  of  intent  in  his 
eyes,  but  she  did  not  see  it. 

When  the  rude  ceremony  was  over,  the  last  clod  was 
heaped  upon  the  pitiful  mound,  and  the  relentless  words, 
''dust  to  dust,"  had  been  murmured  by  one  more  daring 
than  the  rest,  they  turned  and  looked  at  the  girl,  who  had 
all  the  time  stood  upon  a  mound  of  earth  and  watched 
them,  as  a  statue  of  Misery  might  look  down  upon  the 
world.  They  could  not  make  her  out,  this  silent,  marble 
girl.  They  hoped  now  she  would  change.  It  was  over. 
They  felt  an  untold  relief  themselves  from  the  fact  that 
their  reckless,  gay  comrade  was  no  longer  lying  cold  and 
still  among  them.  They  were  done  with  him.  They  had 
paid  their  last  tribute,  and  wished  to  forget.  He  must 
settle  his  own  account  with  the  hereafter  now;  they  had 
enough  in  their  own  lives  without  the  burden  of  his. 

Then  there  had  swept  up  into  the  girl's  face  one  gleam 
of  life  that  made  her  beautiful  for  the  instant,  and  she 
had  bowed  to  them  with  a  slow,  almost  haughty,  inclina- 
tion of  her  head,  and  spread  out  her  hands  like  one  who 
would  like  to  bless  but  dared  not,  and  said  clearly,  "I 
thank  you  —  all!"  There  had  been  just  a  slight  hesita- 
tion before  that  last  word  "all,"  as  if  she  were  not  quite 
Bure,  as  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  ringleader  with  doubt 
and  dislike;  then  her  lips  had  hardened  as  if  justice  must 
be  done,  and  she  had  spoken  it,  "all!"  and,  turning,  sped 
away  to  her  cabin  alone. 


THE   GIRL,    AND   A  GREAT   PERIL  13 

They  were  taken  by  surprise,  those  men  who  feared 
nothing  in  the  wild  and  primitive  West,  and  for  a  moment 
they  watched  her  go  in  silence.  Then  the  words  that 
broke  upon  the  air  were  not  all  pleasant  to  hear;  and,  if 
the  girl  could  have  known,  she  would  have  sped  far 
faster,  and  her  cheeks  would  have  burned  a  brighter  red 
than  they  did. 

But  one,  the  boldest,  the  ringleader,  said  nothing. 
His  brows  darkened,  and  the  wicked  gleam  came  and  sat 
in  his  hard  eyes  with  a  green  light.  He  drew  a  little 
apart  from  the  rest,  and  walked  on  more  rapidly.  When 
he  came  to  the  place  where  they  had  left  their  horses,  he 
took  his  and  went  on  toward  the  cabin  with  a  look  that 
did  not  invite  the  others  to  follow.  As  their  voices  died 
away  in  the  distance,  and  he  drew  nearer  to  the  cabin, 
his  eyes  gleamed  with  cunning. 

The  girl  in  the  cabin  worked  rapidly.  One  by  one  she 
took  the  boxes  on  which  the  rude  coffin  of  her  brother 
had  rested,  and  threw  them  far  out  the  back  door.  She 
straightened  the  furniture  around  fiercely,  as  if  by  erasing 
every  sign  she  would  force  from  memory  the  thought  of 
the  scenes  that  had  just  passed.  She  took  her  brother's 
coat  that  hung  against  the  wall,  and  an  old  pipe  from  the 
mantle,  and  hid  them  in  the  room  that  was  hers.  Then 
she  looked  about  for  something  else  to  be  done. 

A  shadow  darkened  the  sunny  doorway.  Ijooking  up, 
she  saw  the  man  she  believed  to  be  her  brother's  mur- 
derer. 

''I  came  back,  Bess,  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for 
you." 

The  tone  was  kind;  but  the  girl  involuntarily  put  her 
hand  to  her  throat,  and  caught  her  breath.  She  would 
like  to  speak  out  and  tell  him  what  she  thought,  but  she 


14  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

dared  not.  She  did  not  even  dare  let  her  thought  appear 
in  her  eyes.  The  dull,  statue-like  look  came  over  her 
face  that  she  had  worn  at  the  grave.  The  man  thought  it 
was  the  stupefaction  of  grief. 

''I  told  you  I  didn't  want  any  help,"  she  said,  trying 
to  speak  in  the  same  tone  she  had  used  when  she  thanked 
the  men. 

"Yes,  but  you're  all  alone,"  said  the  man  insinuatingly; 
she  felt  a  menace  in  the  thought,  ''and  I  am  sorry  for 
you!" 

He  came  nearer,  but  her  face  was  cold.  Instinctively 
she  glanced  to  the  cupboard  door  behind  which  lay  her 
brother's  belt  with  two  pistols. 

''You're  very  kind,"  she  forced  herself  to  say;  "but  I'd 
rather  be  alone  now."  It  was  hard  to  speak  so  when  she 
would  have  liked  to  dash  on  him,  and  call  down  curses 
for  the  death  of  her  brother;  but  she  looked  into  his  evil 
face,  and  a  fear  for  herself  worse  than  death  stole  into  her 
heart. 

He  took  encouragement  from  her  gentle  dignity. 
Where  did  she  get  that  manner  so  imperial,  she,  born  in  a 
mountain  cabin  and  bred  on  the  wilds?  How  could  she 
speak  with  an  accent  so  different  from  those  about  her? 
The  brother  was  not  so,  not  so  much  so;  the  mother  had 
been  plain  and  quiet.  He  had  not  known  her  father,  for 
he  had  lately  come  to  this  State  in  hiding  from  another. 
He  wondered,  with  his  wide  knowledge  of  the  world,  over 
her  wild,  haughty  beauty,  and  gloated  over  it.  He  liked 
to  think  just  what  worth  was  within  his  easy  grasp.  A 
prize  for  the  taking,  and  here  alone,  unprotected. 

"But  it  ain't  good  for  you  to  be  alone,  you  know,  and 
I've  come  to  protect  you.  Besides,  you  need  cheering 
up,  little  girl."     He  came  closer.     "I  love  you,  Bess,  you 


THE   GIRL,   AND   A   GREAT  PERIL  15 

know,  and  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you  now.  You're 
all  alone.     Poor  little  girl." 

He  was  so  near  that  she  almost  felt  his  breath  against 
her  cheek.  She  faced  him  desperately,  growing  white  to 
the  lips.  Was  there  nothing  on  earth  or  in  heaven  to 
save  her?  Mother!  Father!  Brother!  All  gone!  Ah! 
Could  she  but  have  known  that  the  quarrel  which  ended 
her  wild  young  brother's  life  had  been  about  her,  perhaps 
pride  in  him  would  have  salved  her  grief,  and  choked 
her  horror. 

While  she  watched  the  green  lights  play  in  the  evil 
eyes  above  her,  she  gathered  all  the  strength  of  her  young 
life  into  one  effort,  and  schooled  herself  to  be  calm.  She 
controlled  her  involuntary  shrinking  from  the  man,  only 
drew  herself  back  gently,  as  a  woman  with  wider  experi- 
ence and  gentler  breeding  might  have  done. 

''Remember,"  she  said,  ''that  my  brother  just  lay  there 
dead!"  and  she  pointed  to  the  empty  centre  of  the  room. 
The  dramatic  attitude  was  almost  a  condemnation  to  the 
guilty  man  before  her.  He  drew  back  as  if  the  sheriff 
had  entered  the  room,  and  looked  instinctively  to  where 
the  coffin  had  been  but  a  short  time  before,  then  laughed 
nervously  and  drew  himself  together. 

The  girl  caught  her  breath,  and  took  courage.  She 
had  held  him  for  a  minute;  could  she  not  hold  him  longer? 

"Think!"  said  she.  "He  is  but  just  buried.  It  is  not 
right  to  talk  of  such  things  as  love  in  this  room  where  he 
has  just  gone  out.  You  must  leave  me  alone  for  a  little 
while.  I  cannot  talk  and  think  now.  We  must  respect 
the  dead,  you  know."  She  looked  appealingly  at  him, 
acting  her  part  desperately,  but  well.  It  was  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  charm  a  lion  or  an  insane  man. 

He  stood  admiring  her.     She  argued  well.     He  was 


16  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

half -minded  to  humor  her,  for  somehow  when  she  spoke 
of  the  dead  he  could  see  the  gleam  in  her  brother's  eyes 
just  before  he  shot  him.  Then  there  was  promise  in  this 
wooing.  She  was  no  girl  to  be  lightly  won,  after  all. 
She  could  hold  her  own,  and  perhaps  she  would  be  the 
better  for  having  her  way  for  a  little.  At  any  rate,  there 
was  more  excitement  in  such  game. 

She  saw  that  she  was  gaining,  and  her  breath  came 
freer. 

"Go!"  she  said  with  a  flickering  smile.  ''Go!  For 
—  a  little  while,"  and  then  she  tried  to  smile  again. 

He  made  a  motion  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her; 
but  she  drew  back  suddenly,  and  spread  her  hands  before 
her,  motioning  him  back. 

''I  tell  you  you  must  not  now.  Go!  Go!  or  I  will  never 
speak  to  you  again." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  seemed  to  feel  a  power 
that  he  must  obey.  Half  sullenly  he  drew  back  toward 
the  door. 

''But,  Bess,  this  ain't  the  way  to  treat  a  fellow,"  he 
whined.  "I  came  way  back  here  to  take  care  of  you.  I 
tell  you  I  love  you,  and  I'm  going  to  have  you.  There 
ain't  any  other  fellow  going  to  run  off  with  you " 

"Stop!"  she  cried  tragically.  "Don't  you  see  you're 
not  doing  right?  My  brother  is  just  dead.  I  must  have 
some  time  to  mourn.  It  is  only  decent."  She  was 
standing  now  with  her  back  to  the  little  cupboard  behind 
whose  door  lay  the  two  pistols.  Her  hand  was  behind 
her  on  the  wooden  latch. 

"You  don't  respect  my  trouble!"  she  said,  catching 
her  breath,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  eyes.  "I  don't 
believe  you  care  for  me  when  you  don't  do  what  I  say." 

The  man  was  held  at  bay.    He  was  almost  conquered 


THE   GIRL,   AND   A   GREAT   PERIL  17 

by  her  sign  of  tears.  It  was  a  new  phase  of  her  to  see  her 
melt  into  weakness  so.     He  was  charmed. 

"How  long  must  I  stay  away?"  he  faltered. 

She  could  scarcely  speak,  so  desperate  she  felt.  0  if 
she  dared  but  say,  ''Forever,"  and  shout  it  at  him!  She 
was  desperate  enough  to  try  her  chances  at  shooting  him 
if  she  but  had  the  pistols,  and  was  sure  they  were  loaded 
—  a  desperate  chance  indeed  against  the  best  shot  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  and  a  desperado  at  that. 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  throbbing  temples,  and 
tried  to  think.     At  last  she  faltered  out, 

"Three  days!" 

He  swore  beneath  his  breath,  and  his  brows  drew  down 
in  heavy  frowns  that  were  not  good  to  see.  She  shud- 
dered at  what  it  would  be  to  be  in  his  power  forever. 
How  he  would  play  with  her  and  toss  her  aside!  Or  kill 
her,  perhaps,  when  he  was  tired  of  her!  Her  life  on  the 
mountain  had  made  her  familiar  with  evil  characters. 

He  came  a  step  nearer,  and  she  felt  she  was  losing 
ground. 

Straightening  up,  she  said  coolly: 

"'You  must  go  away  at  once,  and  not  think  of  coming 
back  at  least  until  to-morrow  night.  Go!"  With  won- 
derful control  she  smiled  at  him,  one  frantic,  brilliant 
smile;  and  to  her  great  wonder  he  drew  back.  At  the 
door  he  paused,  a  softened  look  upon  his  face. 

"Mayn't  I  kiss  you  before  I  go?" 

She  shuddered  involuntarily,  but  put  out  her  hands 
in  protest  again.  "Not  to-night!"  She  shook  her  head, 
and  tried  to  smile. 

He  thought  he  understood  her,  but  turned  away  half 
satisfied.  Then  she  heard  his  step  coming  back  to  the 
door  again,  and  she  went  to  meet  him.     He  must  not 


18  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

come  in.  She  had  gained  in  sending  him  out,  if  she  could 
but  close  the  door  fast.  It  was  in  the  doorway  that  she 
faced  him  as  he  stood  with  one  foot  ready  to  enter  again. 
The  crafty  look  was  out  upon  his  face  plainly  now,  and  in 
the  sunlight  she  could  see  it. 

*'You  will  be  all  alone  to-night.'' 

**I  am  not  afraid,"  calmly.  **And  no  one  will  trouble 
me.  Don't  you  know  what  they  say  about  the  spirit  of  a 
man — "  she  stopped;  she  had  almost  said  "a  man  who 
has  been  murdered"  —  ^'coming  back  to  his  home  the 
first  night  after  he  is  buried?"  It  was  her  last  frantic 
effort. 

The  man  before  her  trembled,  and  looked  around 
nervously. 

"You  better  come  away  to-night  with  me,"  he  said, 
edging  away  from  the  door. 

*'See,  the  sun  is  going  down!  You  must  go  now,"  she 
said  imperiously;  and  reluctantly  the  man  mounted  his 
restless  horse,  and  rode  away  down  the  mountain. 

She  watched  him  silhouetted  against  the  blood-red 
globe  of  the  sun  as  it  sank  lower  and  lower.  She  could 
see  every  outline  of  his  slouch-hat  and  muscular  shoulders 
as  he  turned  now  and  then  and  saw  her  standing  still 
alone  at  her  cabin  door.  Why  he  was  going  he  could  not 
tell;  but  he  went, and  he  frowned  as  he  rode  away,  with  the 
wicked  gleam  still  in  his  eye;  for  he  meant  to  return. 

At  last  he  disappeared;  and  the  girl,  turning,  looked 
up,  and  there  rode  the  white  ghost  of  the  moon  overhead. 
She  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE   FLIGHT 


A  GREAT  fear  settled  down  upon  the  girl  as  she  realized 
that  she  was  alone  and,  for  a  few  hours  at  least,  free.  It 
was  a  marvellous  escape.  Even  now  she  could  hear  the 
echo  of  the  man's  last  words,  and  see  his  hateful  smile  as 
he  waved  his  good-by  and  promised  to  come  back  for 
her  to-morrow. 

She  felt  sure  he  would  not  wait  until  the  night.  It 
might  be  he  would  return  even  yet.  She  cast  another 
reassuring  look  down  the  darkening  road,  and  strained 
her  ear;  but  she  could  no  longer  hear  hoof-beats.  Never- 
theless, it  behooved  her  to  hasten.  He  had  blanched  at 
her  suggestion  of  walking  spirits;  but,  after  all,  his  courage 
might  arise.  She  shuddered  to  think  of  his  returning 
later,  in  the  night.     She  must  fly  somewhere  at  once. 

Instantly  her  dormant  senses  seemed  to  be  on  the  alert. 
Fully  fledged  plans  flashed  through  her  brain.  She  went 
into  the  cabin,  and  barred  the  door.  She  made  every 
movement  swiftly,  as  if  she  had  not  an  instant  to  spare. 
Who  could  tell?  He  might  return  even  before  dark.  He 
had  been  hard  to  baffle,  and  she  did  not  feel  at  all  secure. 
It  was  her  one  chance  of  safety  to  get  away  speedily, 
whither  it  mattered  little,  only  so  she  was  away  and 
hidden. 

Her  first  act  inside  the  cottage  was  to  get  the  belt  from 
the  cupboard  and  buckle  it  around  her  waist.  She  ex- 
amined   and    loaded    the    pistols.    Her   throat    seemed 

19 


20  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

seized  with  sudden  constriction  when  she  discovered  that 
the  barrels  had  been  empty  and  the  weapons  would  have 
done  her  no  good  even  if  she  could  have  reached  them. 

She  put  into  her  belt  the  sharp  little  knife  her  brother 
used  to  carry,  and  then  began  to  gather  together  every- 
thing eatable  that  she  could  carry  with  her.  There  was 
not  much  that  could  be  easily  carried  —  some  dried  beef, 
a  piece  of  cheese,  some  corn-meal,  a  piece  of  pork,  a  hand- 
ful of  cheap  coffee-berries,  and  some  pieces  of  hard  corn 
bread.  She  hesitated  over  a  pan  half  full  of  baked  beans, 
and  finally  added  them  to  the  store.  They  were  bulky, 
but  she  ought  to  take  them  if  she  could.  There  was 
nothing  else  in  the  house  that  seemed  advisable  to  take 
in  the  way  of  eatables.  Their  stores  had  been  running 
low,  and  the  trouble  of  the  last  day  or  two  had  put  house- 
keeping entirely  out  of  her  mind.  She  had  not  cared  to 
eat,  and  now  it  occurred  to  her  that  food  had  not  passed 
her  lips  that  day.  With  strong  self-control  she  forced 
herself  to  eat  a  few  of  the  dry  pieces  of  corn  bread,  and  to 
drink  some  cold  coffee  that  stood  in  the  little  coffee-pot. 
This  she  did  while  she  worked,  wasting  not  one  minute. 

There  were  some  old  flour-sacks  in  the  house.  She  put 
the  eatables  into  two  of  them,  with  the  pan  of  beans  on 
the  top,  adding  a  tin  cup,  and  tied  them  securely  together. 
Then  she  went  into  her  little  shed  room,  and  put  on  the 
few  extra  garments  in  her  wardrobe.  They  were  not 
many,  and  that  was  the  easiest  way  to  carry  them.  Her 
mother's  wedding-ring,  sacredly  kept  in  a  box  since  the 
mother's  death,  she  slipped  upon  her  finger.  It  seemed 
the  closing  act  of  her  life  in  the  cabin,  and  she  paused  and 
bent  her  head  as  if  to  ask  the  mother's  permission  that  she 
might  wear  the  ring.  It  seemed  a  kind  of  protection  to 
her  in  her  lonely  situation. 


THE  FLIGHT  21 

There  were  a  few  papers  and  an  old  letter  or  two 
yellow  with  years,  which  the  mother  had  always  guarded 
sacredly.  One  was  the  certificate  of  her  mother's  mar- 
riage. The  girl  did  not  know  what  the  others  were.  She 
had  never  looked  into  them  closely,  but  she  knew  that 
her  mother  had  counted  them  precious.  These  she 
pinned  into  the  bosom  of  her  calico  gown.  Then  she 
was  ready. 

She  gave  one  swift  glance  of  farewell  about  the  cabin 
where  she  had  spent  nearly  all  of  her  life  that  she  could 
remember,  gathered  up  the  two  flour-sacks  and  an  old 
coat  of  her  father's  that  hung  on  the  wall,  remembering 
at  the  last  minute  to  put  into  its  pocket  the  few  matches 
and  the  single  candle  left  in  the  house,  and  went  out  from 
the  cabin,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

She  paused,  looking  down  the  road,  and  listened  again; 
but  no  sound  came  to  her  save  a  distant  howl  of  a  wolf. 
The  moon  rode  high  and  clear  by  this  time;  and  it  seemed 
not  so  lonely  here,  with  everything  bathed  in  soft  silver, 
as  it  had  in  the  darkening  cabin  with  its  flickering  candle. 

The  girl  stole  out  from  the  cabin  and  stealthily  across 
the  patch  of  moonlight  into  the  shadow  of  the  shackly 
barn  where  stamped  the  poor,  ill-fed,  faithful  horse  that 
her  brother  had  ridden  to  his  death  upon.  All  her  move- 
ments were  stealthy  as  a  cat's. 

She  laid  the  old  coat  over  the  horse's  back,  swung  her 
brother's  saddle  into  place,  —  she  had  none  of  her  own, 
and  could  ride  his,  or  without  any;  it  made  no  difference, 
for  she  was  perfectly  at  home  on  horseback,  —  and 
strapped  the  girths  with  trembling  fingers  that  were  icy 
cold  with  excitement.  Across  the  saddle-bows  she  hung 
the  two  flour-sacks  containing  her  provisions.  Then  with 
added  caution  she  tied  some  old  burlap  about  each  of  the 


22  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

horse's  feet.     She  must  make  no  sound  and  leave  no  track 
as  she  stole  forth  into  the  great  world. 

The  horse  looked  curiously  down  and  whinnied  at  her, 
as  she  tied  his  feet  up  clumsily.  He  did  not  seem  to  like 
his  new  habiliments,  but  he  suffered  anything  at  her 
hand. 

"Hush!"  she  murmured  softly,  laying  her  cold  hands 
across  his  nostrils;  and  he  put  his  muzzle  into  her  palm, 
and  seemed  to  understand. 

She  led  him  out  into  the  clear  moonlight  then,  and 
paused  a  second,  looking  once  more  down  the  road  that 
led  away  in  front  of  the  cabin;  but  no  one  was  coming  yet, 
though  her  heart  beat  high  as  she  listened,  fancying  every 
falling  bough  or  rolling  stone  was  a  horse's  hoof-beat. 

There  were  three  trails  leading  away  from  the  cabin, 
for  they  could  hardly  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  road. 
One  led  down  the  mountain  toward  the  west,  and  was 
the  way  they  took  to  the  nearest  clearing  five  or  six  miles 
beyond  and  to  the  supply  store  some  three  miles  further. 
One  led  off  to  the  east,  and  was  less  travelled,  being  the 
way  to  the  great  world;  and  the  third  led  down  behind  the 
cabin,  and  was  desolate  and  barren  under  the  moon.  It 
led  down,  back,  and  away  to  desolation,  where  five  graves 
lay  stark  and  ugly  at  the  end.  It  was  the  way  they  had 
taken  that  afternoon. 

She  paused  just  an  instant  as  if  hesitating  which  way 
to  take.  Not  the  way  to  the  west  —  ah,  any  but  that! 
To  the  east?  Yes, surely,  that  must  be  the  trail  she  would 
eventually  strike;  but  she  had  a  duty  yet  to  perform. 
That  prayer  was  as  yet  unsaid,  and  before  she  was  free 
to  seek  safety  —  if  safety  there  were  for  her  in  the  wide 
world  —  she  must  take  her  way  down  the  lonely  path. 
She  walked,  leading  the  horse,  which  followed  her  with 


THE  FLIGHT  23 

muffled  tread  and  arched  neck  as  if  he  felt  he  were  doing 
homage  to  the  dead.  Slowly,  silently,  she  moved  along 
into  the  river  of  moonlight  and  dreariness;  for  the  moon- 
light here  seemed  cold,  like  the  graves  it  shone  upon,  and 
the  girl,  as  she  walked  with  bowed  head,  almost  fancied 
she  saw  strange  misty  forms  flit  past  her  in  the  night. 

As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  graves,  something  dark 
and  wild  with  plumy  tail  slunk  away  into  the  shadows, 
and  seemed  a  part  of  the  place.  The  girl  stopped  a  mo- 
ment to  gain  courage  in  full  sight  of  the  graves,  and  the 
horse  snorted,  and  stopped  too,  with  his  ears  a-quiver, 
and  a  half-fright  in  his  eyes. 

She  patted  his  neck  and  soothed  him  incoherently,  as 
she  buried  her  face  in  his  mane  for  a  moment,  and  let  the 
first  tears  that  had  dimmed  her  eyes  since  the  blow  had 
fallen  come  smarting  their  way  out.  Then,  leaving  the 
horse  to  stand  curiously  watching  her,  she  went  down 
and  stood  at  the  head  of  the  new-heaped  mound.  She 
tried  to  kneel,  but  a  shudder  passed  through  her.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  descending  into  the  place  of  the  dead  her- 
self; so  she  stood  up  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the  wide  white 
night  and  the  moon  riding  so  high  and  far  away. 

''Our  Father,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  sounded  miles 
away  to  herself.  Was  there  any  Father,  and  could  He 
hear  her?  And  did  He  care?  ''Which  art  in  heaven  — '* 
but  heaven  was  so  far  away  and  looked  so  cruelly  serene 
to  her  in  her  desolateness  and  danger!  "hallowed  be  thy 
name.  Thy  kingdom  come — "  whatever  that  might 
mean.  "Thy  will  be  done  in  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven." 
It  was  a  long  prayer  to  pray,  alone  with  the  pale  moon- 
rain  and  the  graves,  and  a  distant  wolf,  but  it  was  her 
mother's  wish.  Her  will  being  done  here  over  the  dead 
—  was  that  anything  like  the  will  of  the  Father  being 


24  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

done  in  heaven?  Her  untrained  thoughts  hovered  on  the 
verge  of  great  questions,  and  then  slipped  back  into  her 
pathetic  self  and  its  fear,  while  her  tongue  hurried  on 
through  the  words  of  the  prayer. 

Once  the  horse  stirred  and  breathed  a  soft  protest. 
He  could  not  understand  why  they  were  stopping  so  long 
in  this  desolate  place,  for  nothing  apparently.  He  had 
looked  and  looked  at  the  shapeless  mound  before  which 
the  girl  was  standing;  but  he  saw  no  sign  of  his  lost  master, 
and  his  instincts  warned  him  that  there  were  wild  animals 
about.  Anyhow,  this  was  no  place  for  a  horse  and  a  maid 
to  stop  in  the  night. 

A  few  loose  stones  rattled  from  the  horse^s  motion. 
The  girl  started,  and  looked  hastily  about,  listening  for 
a  possible  pursuer;  but  everywhere  in  the  white  sea  of 
moonlight  there  was  empty,  desolate  space.  On  to  the 
*'Amen"  she  finished  then,  and  with  one  last  look  at  the 
lonely  graves  she  turned  to  the  horse.  Now  they  might 
go,  for  the  duty  was  done,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be 
lost. 

Somewhere  over  toward  the  east  across  that  untra veiled 
wilderness  of  white  light  was  the  trail  that  started  to  the 
great  world  from  the  Httle  cabin  she  had  left.  She  dared 
not  go  back  to  the  cabin  to  take  it,  lest  she  find  herself 
already  followed.  She  did  not  know  the  way  across  this 
lonely  plain,  and  neither  did  the  horse.  In  fact,  there 
was  no  way,  for  it  was  all  one  arid  plain  so  situated  that 
human  traveller  seldom  came  near  it,  so  large  and  so 
barren  that  one  might  wander  for  hours  and  gain  no  goal, 
so  dry  that  nothing  would  grow. 

With  another  glance  back  on  the  way  she  had  come, 
the  girl  mounted  the  horse  and  urged  him  down  into  the 
valley.    He  stepped  cautiously  into  the  sandy  plain,  as 


THE  FLIGHT  25 

if  he  were  going  into  a  river  and  must  try  its  depth.  He 
did  not  like  the  going  here,  but  he  plodded  on  with  his 
burdens.  The  giri  was  light;  he  did  not  mind  her  weight; 
but  he  felt  this  place  uncanny,  and  now  and  then  would 
start  on  a  little  spurt  of  haste,  to  get  into  a  better  way. 
He  liked  the  high  mountain  trails,  where  he  could  step 
firmly  and  hear  the  twigs  crackle  under  his  feet,  not  this 
muffled,  velvet  way  where  one  made  so  little  progress  and 
had  to  work  so  hard. 

The  girl's  heart  sank  as  they  went  on,  for  the  sand 
seemed  deep  and  drifted  in  places.  She  felt  she  was 
losing  time.  The  way  ahead  looked  endless,  as  if  they 
were  but  treading  sand  behind  them  which  only  returned 
in  front  to  be  trodden  over  again.  It  was  to  her  like  the 
valley  of  the  dead,  and  she  longed  to  get  out  of  it.  A 
great  fear  lest  the  moon  should  go  down  and  leave  her  in 
this  low  valley  alone  in  the  dark  took  hold  upon  her. 
She  felt  she  must  get  away,  up  higher.  She  turned  the 
horse  a  little  more  to  the  right,  and  he  paused,  and  seemed 
to  survey  the  new  direction  and  to  like  it.  He  stepped 
up  more  briskly,  with  a  courage  that  could  come  only 
from  an  intelligent  hope  for  better  things.  And  at  last 
they  were  rewarded  by  finding  the  sand  shallower,  and 
now  and  then  a  bit  of  rock  cropping  out  for  a  firmer  foot- 
ing. 

The  young  rider  dismounted,  and  untied  the  burlap 
from  the  horse's  feet.  He  seemed  to  understand,  and  to 
thank  her  as  he  nosed  about  her  neck.  He  thought,  per- 
haps, that  their  mission  was  over  and  they  were  going  to 
strike  out  for  home  now. 

The  ground  rose  steadily  before  them  now,  and  at  times 
grew  quite  steep;  but  the  horse  was  fresh  as  yet,  and 
clambered  upward  with  good  heart;  and  the  rider  was 


26  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

used  to  rough  places,  and  felt  no  discomfort  from  her 
position.  The  fear  of  being  followed  had  succeeded  to 
the  fear  of  being  lost,  for  the  time  being;  and  instead  of 
straining  her  ears  on  the  track  behind  she  was  straining 
her  eyes  to  the  wilderness  before.  The  growth  of  sage- 
brush was  dense  now,  and  trees  were  ahead. 

After  that  the  way  seemed  steep,  and  the  rider's  heart 
stood  still  with  fear  lest  she  could  never  get  up  and  over 
to  the  trail  which  she  knew  must  be  somewhere  in  that 
direction,  though  she  had  never  been  far  out  on  its 
course  herself.  That  it  led  straight  east  into  all  the  great 
cities  she  never  doubted,  and  she  must  find  it  before  she 
was  pursued.  That  man  would  be  angry,  angry  if  he 
came  and  found  her  gone!  He  was  not  beyond  shooting 
her  for  giving  him  the  slip  in  this  way. 

The  more  she  thought  over  it,  the  more  frightened  she 
became,  till  every  bit  of  rough  way,  and  every  barrier 
that  kept  her  from  going  forward  quickly,  seemed  terrible 
to  her.  A  bob-cat  shot  across  the  way  just  ahead,  and 
the  green  gleam  of  its  eyes  as  it  turned  one  swift  glance 
at  this  strange  intruder  in  its  chosen  haunts  made  her 
catch  her  breath  and  put  her  hand  on  the  pistols. 

They  were  climbing  a  long  time  —  it  seemed  hours  to 
the  girl  —  when  at  last  they  came  to  a  space  where  a 
better  view  of  the  land  was  possible.  It  was  high,  and 
sloped  away  on  three  sides.  To  her  looking  now  in  the 
clear  night  the  outline  of  a  mountain  ahead  of  her  became 
distinct,  and  the  lay  of  the  land  was  not  what  she  had 
supposed.  It  brought  her  a  curious  sense  of  being  lost. 
Over  there  ought  to  be  the  familiar  way  where  the  cabin 
stood,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  anything  she  had  ever 
seen  before,  though  she  searched  eagerly  for  landmarks. 
The  course  she  had  chosen,  and  which  had  seemed  the 


THE   FLIGHT  27 

only  one,  would  take  her  straight  up,  up  over  the  moun- 
tain, a  way  well-nigh  impossible,  and  terrible  even  if  it 
were  possible. 

It  was  plain  she  must  change  her  course,  but  which 
way  should  she  go?  She  was  completely  turned  around. 
After  all,  what  mattered  it?  One  way  might  be  as  good 
as  another,  so  it  led  not  home  to  the  cabin  which  could 
never  be  home  again.  Why  not  give  the  horse  his  head, 
and  let  him  pick  out  a  safe  path?  Was  there  danger 
that  he  might  carry  her  back  to  the  cabin  again,  after 
all?  Horses  did  that  sometimes.  But  at  least  he  could 
guide  through  this  maze  of  perplexity  till  some  surer 
place  was  reached.  She  gave  him  a  sign,  and  he  moved 
on,  nimbly  picking  a  way  for  his  feet. 

They  entered  a  forest  growth  where  weird  branches  let 
the  pale  moon  through  in  splashes  and  patches,  and 
grim  moving  figures  seemed  to  chase  them  from  every 
shadowy  tree-trunk.  It  was  a  terrible  experience  to  the 
girl.  Sometimes  she  shut  her  eyes  and  held  to  the  saddle, 
that  she  might  not  see  and  be  filled  with  this  frenzy  of 
things,  living  or  dead,  following  her.  Sometimes  a  real 
black  shadow  crept  across  the  path,  and  slipped  into  the 
engulfing  darkness  of  the  undergrowth  to  gleam  with 
yellow-lighted  eyes  upon  the  intruders. 

But  the  forest  did  not  last  forever,  and  the  moon  was 
not  yet  gone  when  they  emerged  presently  upon  the 
rough  mountain-side.  The  girl  studied  the  moon  then, 
and  saw  by  the  way  it  was  setting  that  after  all  they  were 
going  in  the  right  general  direction.  That  gave  a  little 
comfort  until  she  made  herself  believe  that  in  some  way 
she  might  have  made  a  mistake  and  gone  the  wrong  way 
from  the  graves,  and  so  be  coming  up  to  the  cabin  after  all. 

It  was  a  terrible  night.     Every  step  of  the  way  some 


28  THE  GIRL  FEOM  MONTANA 

new  horror  was  presented  to  her  imagination.  Once  she 
had  to  cross  a  wild  little  stream,  rocky  and  uncertain  in 
its  bed,  with  slippery,  precipitous  banks;  and  twice  in 
climbing  a  steep  incUne  she  came  sharp  upon  sheer  preci- 
pices down  into  a  rocky  gorge,  where  the  moonlight 
seemed  repelled  by  dark,  bristling  evergreen  trees  grow- 
ing half-way  up  the  sides.  She  could  hear  the  rush  and 
clamor  of  a  tumbling  mountain  stream  in  the  depths 
below.  Once  she  fancied  she  heard  a  distant  shot,  and 
the  horse  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  went  forward  excitedly. 

But  at  last  the  dawn  contended  with  the  night,  and  in 
the  east  a  faint  pink  flush  crept  up.  Down  in  the  valley 
a  mist  like  a  white  feather  rose  gently  into  a  white  cloud, 
and  obscured  everything.  She  wished  she  might  carry 
the  wall  of  white  with  her  to  shield  her.  She  had  longed 
for  the  dawn;  and  now,  as  it  came  with  sudden  light  and 
clear  revealing  of  the  things  about  her,  it  was  almost 
worse  than  night,  so  dreadful  were  the  dangers  when 
clearly  seen,  so  dangerous  the  chasms,  so  angry  the 
mountain  torrents. 

With  the  dawn  came  the  new  terror  of  being  followed. 
The  man  would  have  no  fear  to  come  to  her  in  the  morn- 
ing, for  murdered  men  were  not  supposed  to  haunt  their 
homes  after  the  sun  was  up,  and  murderers  were  always 
courageous  in  the  day.  He  might  the  sooner  come,  and 
find  her  gone,  and  perhaps  follow;  for  she  felt  that  he  was 
not  one  easily  to  give  up  an  object  he  coveted,  and  she 
had  seen  in  his  evil  face  that  which  made  her  fear 
unspeakably. 

As  the  day  grew  clearer,  she  began  to  study  the  sur- 
roundings. All  seemed  utter  desolation.  There  was  no 
sign  that  any  one  had  ever  passed  that  way  before;  and 
yet,  just  as  she  had  thought  that,  the  horse  stopped  and 


THE   FLIGHT  29 

snorted,  and  there  in  the  rocks  before  them  lay  a  man's 
hat  riddled  with  shot.  Peering  fearfully  around,  the 
girl  saw  a  sight  which  made  her  turn  icy  cold  and  begin 
to  tremble;  for  there,  below  them,  as  if  he  had  fallen  from 
his  horse  and  rolled  down  the  incline,  lay  a  man  on  his 
face. 

For  the  instant  fear  held  her  riveted,  with  the  horse, 
one  figure  like  a  statue,  girl  and  beast;  the  next,  sudden 
panic  took  hold  upon  her.  Whether  the  man  were  dead 
or  not,  she  must  make  haste.  It  might  be  he  would  come 
to  himself  and  pursue  her,  though  there  was  that  in  the 
rigid  attitude  of  the  figure  down  below  that  made  her  sure 
he  had  been  dead  some  time.  But  how  had  he  died? 
Scarcely  by  his  own  hand.  Who  had  killed  him?  Were 
there  fiends  lurking  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountain 
growth  above  her? 

With  guarded  motion  she  urged  her  horse  forward,  and 
for  miles  beyond  the  horse  scrambled  breathlessly,  the 
girl  holding  on  with  shut  eyes,  not  daring  to  look  ahead 
for  fear  of  seeing  more  terrible  sights,  not  daring  to  look 
behind  for  fear  of  —  what  she  did  not  know. 

At  last  the  way  sloped  downward,  and  they  reached 
more  level  ground,  with  wide  stretches  of  open  plain, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  sage-brush  and  greasewood. 

She  had  been  hungry  back  there  before  she  came  upon 
the  dead  man;  but  now  the  hunger  had  gone  from  her,  and 
in  its  place  was  only  faintness.  Still,  she  dared  not  stop 
long  to  eat.  She  must  make  as  much  time  as  possible 
here  in  this  open  space,  and  now  she  was  where  she  could 
be  seen  more  easily  if  any  one  were  in  pursuit. 

But  the  horse  had  decided  that  it  was  time  for  break- 
fast. He  had  had  one  or  two  drinks  of  water  on  the 
mountain,  but  there  had  been  no  time  for  him  to  eat. 


30  THE  GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

He  was  decidedly  hungry,  and  the  plain  offered  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  breakfast.  He  halted,  lingered,  and 
came  to  a  neighing  stop,  looking  around  at  his  mistress. 
She  roused  from  her  lethargy  of  trouble,  and  realized  that 
his  wants  —  if  not  her  own  —  must  be  attended  to. 

She  must  sacrifice  some  of  her  own  store  of  eatables, 
for  by  and  by  they  would  come  to  a  good  grazing-place 
perhaps,  but  now  there  was  nothing. 

The  corn-meal  seemed  the  best  for  the  horse.  She  had 
more  of  it  than  of  anything  else.  She  poured  a  scanty 
portion  out  on  a  paper,  and  the  beast  smacked  his  lips 
appreciatively  over  it,  carefully  licking  every  grain  from 
the  paper,  as  the  girl  guarded  it  lest  his  breath  should 
blow  any  away.  He  snuffed  hungrily  at  the  empty  paper, 
and  she  gave  him  a  little  more  meal,  while  she  ate  some  of 
the  cold  beans,  and  scanned  the  horizon  anxiously. 
There  was  nothing  but  sage-brush  in  sight  ahead  of  her, 
and  more  hills  farther  on  where  dim  outlines  of  trees 
could  be  seen.  If  she  could  but  get  up  higher  where 
she  could  see  farther,  and  perhaps  reach  a  bench  where 
there  would  be  grass  and  some  shelter. 

It  was  only  a  brief  rest  she  allowed;  and  then,  hastily 
packing  up  her  stores,  and  retaining  some  dry  corn  bread 
and  a  few  beans  in  her  pocket,  she  mounted  and  rode  on. 

The  morning  grew  hot,  and  the  way  was  long.  As  the 
ground  rose  again,  it  was  stony  and  overgrown  with  cac- 
tus. A  great  desolation  took  possession  of  the  girl.  She 
felt  as  if  she  were  in  an  endless  flight  from  an  unseen 
pursuer,  who  would  never  give  up  until  he  had  her. 

It  was  high  noon  by  the  glaring  sun  when  she  suddenly 
saw  another  human  being.  At  first  she  was  not  quite 
sure  whether  he  were  human.  It  was  only  a  distant  view 
of  a  moving  speck;  but  it  was  coming  toward  her,  though 


THE  FLIGHT  31 

separated  by  a  wide  valley  that  had  stretched  already 
for  miles.  He  was  moving  along  against  the  sky-line  on 
a  high  bench  on  one  side  of  the  valley,  and  she  mounting 
as  fast  as  her  weary  beast  would  go  to  the  top  of  another, 
hoping  to  find  a  grassy  stretch  and  a  chance  to  rest. 

But  the  sight  of  the  moving  speck  startled  her.  She 
watched  it  breathlessly  as  they  neared  each  other.  Could 
it  be  a  wild  beast?  No,  it  must  be  a  horse  and  rider.  A 
moment  later  there  came  a  puff  of  smoke  as  from  a  rifle 
discharged,  followed  by  the  distant  echo  of  the  discharge. 
It  was  a  man,  and  he  was  yet  a  great  way  off.  Should  she 
turn  and  flee  before  she  was  discovered?  But  where? 
Should  she  go  back?  No,  a  thousand  times,  no!  Her 
enemy  was  there.  This  could  not  be  the  one  from  whom 
she  fled.  He  was  coming  from  the  opposite  direction, 
but  he  might  be  just  as  bad.  Her  experience  taught  her 
that  men  were  to  be  shunned.  Even  fathers  and  brothers 
were  terribly  uncertain,  sorrow-bringing  creatures. 

She  could  not  go  back  to  the  place  where  the  dead  man 
lay.  She  must  not  go  back.  And  forward  she  was  tak- 
ing the  only  course  that  seemed  at  all  possible  through 
the  natural  obstructions  of  the  region.  She  shrank  to 
her  saddle,  and  urged  the  patient  horse  on.  Perhaps  she 
could  reach  the  bench  and  get  away  out  of  sight  before 
the  newcomer  saw  her. 

But  the  way  was  longer  to  the  top,  and  steeper  than  it 
had  seemed  at  first,  and  the  horse  was  tired.  Sometimes 
he  stopped  of  his  own  accord,  and  snorted  appealingly 
to  her  with  his  head  turned  inquiringly  as  if  to  know  how 
long  and  how  far  this  strange  ride  was  to  continue. 
Then  the  man  in  the  distance  seemed  to  ride  faster.  The 
valley  between  them  was  not  so  wide  here.  He  was 
quite  distinctly  a  man  now,  and  his  horse  was  going 


32  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

rapidly.  Once  it  seemed  as  if  he  waved  his  arms;  but  she 
turned  her  head,  and  urged  her  horse  with  sudden  fright. 
They  were  almost  to  the  top  now.  She  dismounted  and 
clambered  alongside  of  the  animal  up  the  steep  incline, 
her  breath  coming  in  quick  gasps,  with  the  horse's  breath 
hot  upon  her  cheek  as  they  climbed  together. 

At  last!  They  were  at  the  top!  Ten  feet  more  and 
they  would  be  on  a  level,  where  they  might  disappear 
from  view.  She  turned  to  look  across  the  valley,  and  the 
man  was  directly  opposite.  He  must  have  ridden  hard 
to  get  there  so  soon.  Oh,  horror!  He  was  waving  his 
hands  and  calling.  She  could  distinctly  hear  a  cry!  It 
chilled  her  senses,  and  brought  a  frantic,  unreasoning 
fear.  Somehow  she  felt  he  was  connected  with  the  one 
from  whom  she  fled.  Some  emissary  of  his  sent  out  to 
foil  her  in  her  attempt  for  safety,  perhaps. 

She  clutched  the  bridle  wildly,  and  urged  the  horse 
up  with  one  last  effort;  and  just  as  they  reached  high 
ground  she  heard  the  wild  cry  ring  clear  and  distinct, 
'^ Hello!  Hello!"  and  then  something  else.  It  sounded 
like  *'Help!"  but  she  could  not  tell.  Was  he  trying  to 
deceive  her?    Pretending  he  would  help  her? 

She  flung  herself  into  the  saddle,  giving  the  horse  the 
signal  to  run;  and,  as  the  animal  obeyed  and  broke  into 
his  prairie  run,  she  cast  one  fearful  glance  behind  her. 
The  man  was  pursuing  her  at  a  gallop!  He  was  crossing 
the  valley.  There  was  a  stream  to  cross,  but  he  would 
cross  it.  He  had  determination  in  every  line  of  his  flying 
figure.  His  voice  was  pursuing  her,  too.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  sound  reached  out  and  clutched  her  heart,  and  tried 
to  draw  her  back  as  she  fled.  And  now  her  pursuers 
were  three:  her  enemy,  the  dead  man  upon  the  mountain, 
and  the  voice. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE    PURSUIT 


Straight  across  the  prairie  she  galloped,  not  daring  to 
stop  for  an  instant,  with  the  voice  pursuing  her.  For 
hours  it  seemed  to  ring  in  her  ears,  and  even  after  she 
was  far  beyond  any  possibiUty  of  hearing  it  she  could  not 
be  sure  but  there  was  now  and  then  a  faint  echo  of  it 
ringing  yet,  ''Hello I"  —  ringing  like  some  strange  bird 
amid  the  silence  of  the  world. 

There  were  cattle  and  sheep  grazing  on  the  bench,  and 
the  horse  would  fain  have  stopped  to  dine  with  them; 
but  the  girl  urged  him  on,  seeming  to  make  him  under- 
stand the  danger  that  might  be  pursuing  them. 

It  was  hours  before  she  dared  stop  for  the  much-needed 
rest.  Her  brain  had  grown  confused  with  the  fright  and 
weariness.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  much  longer  stay 
in  the  saddle.  She  might  fall  asleep.  The  afternoon  sun 
would  soon  be  slipping  down  behind  the  mountains. 
When  and  where  dared  she  rest?  Not  in  the  night,  for 
that  would  be  almost  certain  death,  with  wild  beasts 
about. 

A  little  group  of  greasewood  offered  a  scanty  shelter. 
As  if  the  beast  understood  her  thoughts  he  stopped  with 
a  neigh,  and  looked  around  at  her.  She  scanned  the  sur- 
roundings. There  were  cattle  all  about.  They  had 
looked  up  curiously  from  their  grazing  as  the  horse  flew 
by,  but  were  now  going  quietly  on  about  their  business. 
They  would  serve  as  a  screen  if  any  should  be  still  pursuing 

33 


34  THE   GIRL  PROM   MONTANA 

her.  One  horse  among  the  other  animals  in  a  landscape 
would  not  be  so  noticeable  as  one  alone  against  the  sky. 
The  greasewood  was  not  far  from  sloping  ground  where 
she  might  easily  flee  for  hiding  if  danger  approached. 

The  horse  had  already  begun  to  crop  the  tender  grass 
at  his  feet  as  if  his  life  depended  upon  a  good  meal.  The 
girl  took  some  more  beans  from  the  pack  she  carried, 
and  mechanically  ate  them,  though  she  felt  no  appetite, 
and  her  dry  throat  almost  refused  to  swallow.  She  found 
her  eyes  shutting  even  against  her  will;  and  in  desperation 
she  folded  the  old  coat  into  a  pillow,  and  with  the  horse's 
bridle  fastened  in  her  belt  she  lay  down. 

The  sun  went  away;  the  horse  ate  his  supper;  and  the 
girl  slept.  By  and  by  the  horse  drowsed  off  too,  and  the 
bleating  sheep  in  the  distance,  the  lowing  of  the  cattle, 
the  sound  of  night-birds,  came  now  and  again  from  the 
distance;  but  still  the  girl  slept  on.  The  moon  rose  full 
and  round,  shining  with  flickering  light  through  the  cot- 
ton woods;  and  the  girl  stirred  in  a  dream  and  thought 
some  one  was  pursuing  her,  but  slept  on  again.  Then 
out  through  the  night  rang  a  vivid  human  voice,  "Hello! 
Hello!''  The  horse  roused  from  his  sleep,  and  stamped 
his  feet  nervously,  twitching  at  his  bridle;  but  the  relaxed 
hand  that  lay  across  the  leather  strap  did  not  quicken, 
and  the  girl  slept  on.  The  horse  listened,  and  thought 
he  heard  a  sound  good  to  his  ear.  He  neighed,  and 
neighed  again;  but  the  girl  slept  on. 

The  first  ray  of  the  rising  sun  at  last  shot  through  the 
gray  of  dawning,  and  touched  the  girl  full  in  the  face  as 
it  slid  under  the  branches  of  her  sheltering  tree.  The 
light  brought  her  acutely  to  her  senses.  Before  she 
opened  her  eyes  she  seemed  to  be  keenly  and  painfully 
aware  of  much  that  had  gone  on  during  her  sleep.     With 


THE   PURSUIT  35 

another  flash  her  eyes  flew  open.  Not  because  she  willed 
it,  but  rather  as  if  the  springs  that  held  the  lids  shut  had 
unexpectedly  been  touched  and  they  sprang  back  because 
they  had  to. 

She  shrank,  as  her  eyes  opened,  from  a  new  day,  and 
the.  memory  of  the  old  one.  Then  before  her  she  saw 
something  which  kept  her  motionless,  and  almost  froze 
the  blood  in  her  veins.  She  could  not  stir  nor  breathe, 
and  for  a  moment  even  thought  was  paralyzed.  There 
before  her  but  a  few  feet  away  stood  a  man!  Beyond  him, 
a  few  feet  from  her  own  horse,  stood  his  horse.  She 
could  not  see  it  without  turning  her  head,  and  that  she 
dared  not  do;  but  she  knew  it  was  there,  felt  it  even  be- 
fore she  noticed  the  double  stamping  and  breathing  of 
the  animals.  Her  keen  senses  seemed  to  make  the  whole 
surrounding  landscape  visible  to  her  without  the  moving 
of  a  muscle.  She  knew  to  a  nicety  exactly  how  her 
weapons  lay,  and  what  movement  would  bring  her  hand 
to  the  trigger  of  her  pistol;  yet  she  stirred  not. 

Gradually  she  grew  calm  enough  to  study  the  man 
before  her.  He  stood  almost  wuth  his  back  turned  toward 
her,  his  face  just  half  turned  so  that  one  cheek  and  a  part 
of  his  brow  were  visible.  He  was  broad-shouldered  and 
well  built.  There  was  strength  in  every  line  of  his  body. 
She  felt  how  powerless  she  would  be  in  his  grasp.  Her 
only  hope  would  be  in  taking  him  unaware.  Yet  she 
moved  not  one  atom. 

He  wore  a  brown  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat, 
brown  leather  belt  and  boots;  in  short,  his  whole  costume 
was  in  harmonious  shades  of  brown,  and  looked  new  as  if 
it  had  been  worn  but  a  few  days.  His  soft  felt  sombrero 
was  rolled  back  from  his  face,  and  the  young  red  sun 
tinged  the  short  brown  curls  to  a  ruddy  gold.     He  was 


36  THE    GIRL   FROM    ^MONTANA 

looking  toward  the  rising  sun.  The  gleam  of  it  shot 
across  his  brace  of  pistols  in  his  belt,  and  flashed  twin 
rays  into  her  eyes.  Then  all  at  once  the  man  tm-ned  and 
looked  at  her. 

Instantly  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  hands  upon 
her  pistol,  her  eyes  meeting  with  calm,  desperate  defiance 
the  blue  ones  that  were  turned  to  her.  She  was  braced 
against  a  tree,  and  her  senses  were  measuring  the  dis- 
tance between  her  horse  and  herself,  and  deciding  whether 
escape  were  possible. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  man  politely.  ''I  hope  I 
haven't  disturbed  your  nap." 

The  girl  eyed  him  solemnly,  and  said  nothing.  This 
was  a  new  kind  of  man.  He  was  not  like  the  one  from 
whom  she  had  fled,  nor  like  any  she  had  ever  seen;  but  he 
might  be  a  great  deal  worse.  She  had  heard  that  the 
world  was  full  of  wickedness. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  the  man  with  an  apologetic  smile, 
which  lit  up  his  eyes  in  a  wonderfully  winning  way,  ''you 
led  me  such  a  desperate  race  nearly  all  day  yesterday  that 
I  was  obliged  to  keep  you  in  sight  when  I  finally  caught 
you." 

He  looked  for  an  answering  smile,  but  there  was  none. 
Instead,  the  girl's  dark  eyes  grew  wide  and  purple  with 
fear.  He  was  the  same  one,  then,  that  she  had  seen  in 
the  afternoon,  the  voice  who  had  cried  to  her;  and  he  had 
been  pursuing  her.  He  was  an  enemy,  perhaps,  sent  by 
the  man  from  whom  she  fled.  She  grasped  her  pistol 
with  trembling  fingers,  and  tried  to  think  what  to  say  or  do. 

The  young  man  wondered  at  the  formalities  of  the 
plains.     Were  all  these  Western  maidens  so  reticent? 

''  Why  did  you  follow  me?  Who  did  you  think  I  was?  '* 
she  asked  breathlessly  at  last. 


THE    PURSUIT  37 

''Well,  I  thought  you  were  a  man,"  he  said;  "at  least, 
you  appeared  to  be  a  human  being,  and  not  a  wild  animal. 
I  hadn't  seen  anything  but  wild  animals  for  six  hours, 
and  very  few  of  those;  so  I  followed  you." 

The  girl  was  silent.  She  was  not  reassured.  It  did 
not  seem  to  her  that  her  question  was  directly  answered. 
The  young  man  was  playing  with  her. 

''What  right  had  you  to  follow  me?"  she  demanded 
fiercely. 

"Well,  now  that  you  put  it  in  that  light,  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  had  any  right  at  all,  unless  it  may  be  the  claim 
that  every  human  being  has  upon  all  creation." 

His  arms  were  folded  now  across  his  broad  brown 
flannel  chest,  and  the  pistols  gleamed  in  his  belt  below 
like  fine  ornaments.  He  wore  a  philosophical  expression, 
and  looked  at  his  companion  as  if  she  were  a  new  speci- 
men of  the  human  kind,  and  he  was  studying  her  variety, 
quite  impersonally,  it  is  true,  but  interestedly.  There 
was  something  in  his  look  that  angered  the  girl. 

"What  do  you  want?"  She  had  never  heard  of  the 
divine  claims  of  all  the  human  family.  Her  one  instinct 
at  present  was  fear. 

An  expression  that  was  almost  bitter  flitted  over  the 
young  man's  face,  as  of  an  unpleasant  memory  forgotten 
for  the  instant. 

"It  really  wasn't  of  much  consequence  when  you  think 
of  it,"  he  said  with  a  shrug  of  his  fine  shoulders.  "I  was 
merely  lost,  and  was  wanting  to  inquire  where  I  was  — 
and  possibly  the  way  to  somewhere.  But  I  don't  know  as 
'twas  worth  the  trouble." 

The  girl  was  puzzled.  She  had  never  seen  a  man  like 
this  before.  He  was  not  like  her  wild,  reckless  brother, 
nor  any  of  his  associates. 


38  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

''This  is  Montana,"  she  said,  ''or  was,  when  I  started," 
she  added  with  sudden  thought. 

"Yes?  Well,  it  was  Montana  when  I  started,  too; 
but  it's  as  likely  to  be  the  Desert  of  Sahara  as  anything 
else.  I'm  sure  I've  come  far  enough,  and  found  it  barren 
enough." 

"I  never  heard  of  that  place,"  said  the  girl  seriously; 
"is  it  in  Canada?" 

"I  believe  not,"  said  the  man  with  sudden  gravity; 
"at  least,  not  that  I  know  of.  When  I  went  to  school, 
it  was  generally  located  somewhere  in  Africa." 

'^  I  never  went  to  school,"  said  the  girl  wistfully; 
''but  —  "  with  a  sudden  resolve  —  "I '11  go  now." 

"Do!"  said  the  man.  "I'll  go  with  you.  Let's  start 
at  once;  for,  now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  haven't  had  any- 
thing to  eat  for  over  a  day,  and  there  might  be  some- 
thing in  that  line  near  a  schoolhouse.  Do  you  know  the 
way?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  slowly  studying  him  —  she  began 
to  feel  he  was  making  fun  of  her;  "but  I  can  give  you 
something  to  eat." 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  man.  "I  assure  you  I  shall 
appreciate  anything  from  hardtack  to  bisque  ice-cream." 

"I  haven't  any  of  those,"  said  the  girl,  "but  there  are 
plenty  of  beans  left;  and,  if  you  will  get  some  wood  for  a 
fire,  I'll  make  some  coffee." 

"Agreed,"  said  the  man.  "That  sounds  better  than 
anything  I've  heard  for  forty-eight  hours." 

The  girl  watched  him  as  he  strode  away  to  find  wood, 
and  frowned  for  an  instant;  but  his  face  was  perfectly 
sober,  and  she  turned  to  the  business  of  getting  break- 
fast. For  a  little  her  fears  were  allayed.  At  least,  he 
would  do  her  no  immediate  harm.     Of  course  she  might 


THE   PURSUIT  39 

fly  from  him  now  while  his  back  was  turned;  but  then  of 
course  he  would  pursue  her  again,  and  she  had  little 
chance  of  getting  away.  Besides,  he  was  hungry.  She 
could  not  leave  him  without  something  to  eat. 

*'We  can't  make  coffee  without  water,"  she  said  as  he 
came  back  with  a  bundle  of  sticks. 

He  whistled. 

"Could  you  inform  me  where  to  look  for  water?"  he 
asked. 

She  looked  into  his  face,  and  saw  how  worn  and  gray 
he  was  about  his  eyes;  and  a  sudden  compassion  came 
upon  her. 

"You'd  better  eat  something  first,"  she  said,  "and  then 
we'll  go  and  hunt  for  water.  There's  sure  to  be  some 
in  the  valley.     We'll  cook  some  meat." 

She  took  the  sticks  from  him,  and  made  the  fire  in  a 
businesslike  way.  He  watched  her,  and  wondered  at  her 
grace.  Who  was  she,  and  how  had  she  wandered  out  into 
this  waste  place?  Her  face  was  both  beautiful  and  in- 
teresting. She  would  make  a  fine  study  if  he  were  not 
so  weary  of  all  human  nature,  and  especially  woman. 
He  sighed  as  he  thought  again  of  himself. 

The  girl  caught  the  sound,  and,  turning  with  the 
quickness  of  a  wild  creature,  caught  the  sadness  in  his 
face.  It  seemed  to  drive  away  much  of  her  fear  and  re- 
sentment. A  half-flicker  of  a  smile  came  to  her  lips  as 
their  eyes  met.  It  seemed  to  recognize  a  comradeship 
in  sorrow.  But  her  face  hardened  again  almost  at  once 
into  disapproval  as  he  answered  her  look. 

The  man  felt  a  passing  disappointment.  After  a 
minute,  during  which  the  girl  had  dropped  her  eyes  to 
her  work  again,  he  said:  "Now,  why  did  you  look  at  me 
in  that  way?    Ought  I  to  be  helping  you  in  some  way? 


40  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

I'm  awkward,  I  know,  but  I  can  obey  if  you'll  just  tell 
me  how." 

The  girl  seemed  puzzled;  then  she  replied  almost 
sullenly: 

"There's  nothing  more  to  do.     It's  ready  to  eat." 

She  gave  him  a  piece  of  the  meat  and  the  last  of  the 
corn  bread  in  the  tin  cup,  and  placed  the  pan  of  beans 
beside  him;  but  she  did  not  attempt  to  eat  anything  her- 
self. 

He  took  a  hungry  bite  or  two,  and  looked  furtively  at  her. 

"I  insist  upon  knowing  why  you  looked  — "  he  paused 
and  eyed  her  —  ''why  you  look  at  me  in  that  way.  I'm 
not  a  wolf  if  I  am  hungry,  and  I'm  not  going  to  eat  you 
up." 

The  look  of  displeasure  deepened  on  the  girl's  brow. 
In  spite  of  his  hunger  the  man  was  compelled  to  watch 
her.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  at  a  flock  of  birds  in  the 
sky.  Her  hand  rested  lightly  at  her  belt.  The  birds  were 
coming  towards  them,  flying  almost  over  their  heads. 

Suddenly  the  girl's  hand  was  raised  with  a  quick  motion, 
and  something  gleamed  in  the  sun  across  his  sight. 
There  was  a  loud  report,  and  one  of  the  birds  fell  almost 
at  his  feet,  dead.  It  was  a  sage-hen.  Then  the  girl 
turned  and  walked  towards  him  with  as  haughty  a  car- 
riage as  ever  a  society  belle  could  boast. 

"  You  were  laughing  at  me,"  she  said  quietly. 

It  had  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  the  man  had  not 
time  to  think.  Several  distinct  sensations  of  surprise 
passed  over  his  countenance.  Then,  as  the  meaning  of 
the  girl's  act  dawned  upon  him,  and  the  full  intention  of 
her  rebuke,  the  color  mounted  in  his  nice,  tanned  face.  He 
set  down  the  tin  cup,  and  balanced  the  bit  of  corn  bread 
on  the  rim,  and  arose. 


THE   PURSUIT  41 

''I  beg  your  pardon/'  he  said.  "I  never  will  do  it 
again.  I  couldn't  have  shot  that  bird  to  save  my  life," 
and  he  touched  it  with  the  tip  of  his  tan  leather  boot  as  if 
to  make  sure  it  was  a  real  bird. 

The  girl  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  indifferently  eating 
some  of  the  cooked  pork.  She  did  not  answer.  Some- 
how the  young  man  felt  uncomfortable.  He  sat  down, 
and  took  up  his  tin  cup,  and  went  at  his  breakfast  again; 
but  his  appetite  seemed  in  abeyance. 

"I've  been  trying  myself  to  learn  to  shoot  during  the 
last  week,"  he  began  soberly.  "I  haven't  been  able  yet 
to  hit  anything  but  the  side  of  a  barn.  Say,  I'm  wonder- 
ing, suppose  I  had  tried  to  shoot  at  those  birds  just  now 
and  had  missed,  whether  you  wouldn't  have  laughed  at  me 
— quietly, all  to  yourself, you  know.  Are  you  quite  sure?" 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  solemnly  without  saying  a 
word  for  a  full  minute. 

''Was  what  I  said  as  bad  as  that?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I'm  afraid  it  was,"  he  answered  thoughtfully;  "but  I 
was  a  blamed  idiot  for  laughing  at  you.  A  girl  that 
shoots  like  that  may  locate  the  Desert  of  Sahara  in 
Canada  if  she  likes,  and  Canada  ought  to  be  proud  of  the 
honor." 

She  looked  into  his  face  for  an  instant,  and  noted  his 
earnestness;  and  all  at  once  she  broke  into  a  clear  ripple 
of  laughter.  The  young  man  was  astonished  anew  that 
she  had  understood  him  enough  to  laugh.  She  must  be 
unusually  keen-witted,  this  lady  of  the  desert. 

"If  'twas  as  bad  as  that,"  she  said  in  quite  another 
tone,  "you  c'n  laugh." 

They  looked  at  each  other  then  in  mutual  under- 
standing, and  each  fell  to  eating  his  portion  in  silence. 
Suddenly  the  man  spoke. 


42  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

"I  am  eating  your  food  that  you  had  prepared  for  your 
journey,  and  I  have  not  even  said,  'Thank  you'  yet,  nor 
asked  if  you  have  enough  to  carry  you  to  a  place  where 
there  is  more.     Where  are  you  going?" 

The  girl  did  not  answer  at  once;  but,  when  she  did,  she 
spoke  thoughtfully,  as  if  the  words  were  a  newly  made 
vow  from  an  impulse  just  received. 

^'I  am  going  to  school,"  she  said  in  her  slow  way,  "to 
learn  to  'sight'  the  Desert  of  Sahara." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  eyes  gave  her  the  homage  he 
felt  was  her  due;  but  he  said  nothing.  Here  evidently 
was  an  indomitable  spirit,  but  how  did  she  get  out  into 
the  wilderness?  Where  did  she  come  from,  and  why 
was  she  alone?  He  had  heard  of  the  freedom  of  Western 
women,  but  surely  such  girls  as  this  did  not  frequent  so 
vast  a  waste  of  uninhabited  territory  as  his  experience 
led  him  to  believe  this  was.     He  sat  studying  her. 

The  brow  was  sweet  and  thoughtful,  with  a  certain 
keen  inquisitiveness  about  the  eyes.  The  mouth  was 
firm;  yet  there  were  gentle  lines  of  grace  about  it.  In 
spite  of  her  coarse,  dark  calico  garb,  made  in  no  particular 
fashion  except  with  an  eye  to  covering  with  the  least 
possible  fuss  and  trouble,  she  was  graceful.  Every 
movement  was  alert  and  clean-cut.  When  she  turned  to 
look  full  in  his  face,  he  decided  that  she  had  almost 
beautiful  eyes. 

She  had  arisen  while  he  was  watching  her,  and  seemed 
to  be  looking  off  with  sudden  apprehension.  He  followed 
her  gaze,  and  saw  several  dark  figures  moving  against  the 
sky. 

"It's  a  herd  of  antelope,"  she  said  with  relief;  "but  it's 
time  we  hit  the  trail."  She  turned,  and  put  her  things 
together  with  incredible  swiftness,  giving  him  very  little 


THE    PURSUIT  43 

opportunity  to  help,  and  mounted  her  pony  without  more 
words. 

For  an  hour  he  followed  her  at  high  speed  as  she  rode 
full  tilt  over  rough  and  smooth,  casting  furtive,  anxious 
glances  behind  her  now  and  then,  which  only  half  included 
him.  She  seemed  to  know  that  he  was  there  and  was 
following;  that  was  all. 

The  young  man  felt  rather  amused  and  flattered.  He 
reflected  that  most  women  he  knew  would  have  ridden 
by  his  side,  and  tried  to  make  him  talk.  But  this  girl 
of  the  wilderness  rode  straight  ahead  as  if  her  life  de- 
pended upon  it.  She  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  say  to 
him,  and  to  be  anxious  neither  to  impart  her  own  history 
nor  to  know  his. 

Well,  that  suited  his  mood.  He  had  come  out  into  the 
wilderness  to  think  and  to  forget.  Here  was  ample 
opportunity.  There  had  been  a  little  too  much  of  it 
yesterday,  when  he  wandered  from  the  rest  of  his  party 
who  had  come  out  to  hunt;  and  for  a  time  he  had  felt  that 
he  would  rather  be  back  in  his  native  city  with  a  good 
breakfast  and  all  his  troubles  than  to  be  alone  in  the  vast 
waste  forever.  But  now  there  was  human  company, 
and  a  possibility  of  getting  somewhere  sometime.  He 
was  content. 

The  lithe,  slender  figure  of  the  girl  ahead  seemed  one 
with  the  horse  it  rode.  He  tried  to  think  what  this  ride 
would  be  if  another  woman  he  knew  were  riding  on  that 
horse  ahead,  but  there  was  very  small  satisfaction  in  that. 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  highly  improbable,  and  the 
young  man  was  of  an  intensely  practical  turn  of  mind. 
It  was  impossible  to  imagine  the  haughty  beauty  in  a 
brown  calico  riding  a  high-spirited  horse  of  the  wilds. 
There  was  but  one  parallel.     If  she  had  been  there,  she 


44  THE  GIRL  PROM   MONTANA 

would,  in  her  present  state  of  mind,  likely  be  riding 
imperiously  and  indifferently  ahead  instead  of  by  his  side 
where  he  w^anted  her.  Besides,  he  came  out  to  the  plains 
to  forget  her.     Why  think  of  her? 

The  sky  was  exceedingly  bright  and  wide.  Why  had 
he  never  noticed  this  wideness  in  skies  at  home?  There 
was  another  flock  of  birds.  What  if  he  should  try  to 
shoot  one?  Idle  talk.  He  would  probably  hit  anything 
but  the  birds.  Why  had  that  girl  shot  that  bird,  anyway? 
Was  it  entirely  because  she  might  need  it  for  food?  She 
had  picked  it  up  significantly  wuth  the  other  things,  and 
fastened  it  to  her  saddle-bow  without  a  word.  He  was 
too  ignorant  to  know  whether  it  was  an  edible  bird  or 
not,  or  she  was  merely  carrying  it  to  remind  him  of  her 
skill. 

And  what  sort  of  a  girl  was  she?  Perhaps  she  was 
escaping  from  justice.  She  ran  from  him  yesterday,  and 
apparently  stopped  only  when  utterly  exhausted.  She 
seemed  startled  and  anxious  when  the  antelopes  came  into 
sight.  There  was  no  knowing  whether  her  company 
meant  safety,  after  all.  Yet  his  interest  was  so  thoroughly 
aroused  in  her  that  he  was  willing  to  risk  it. 

Of  course  he  might  go  more  slowly  and  gradually,  let 
her  get  ahead,  and  he  slip  out  of  sight.  It  was  not  likely 
he  had  wandered  so  many  miles  away  from  human  habi- 
tation but  that  he  would  reach  one  sometime;  and,  now 
that  he  was  re-enforced  by  food,  perhaps  it  would  be  the 
part  of  wisdom  to  part  with  this  strange  maiden.  As  he 
thought,  he  unconsciously  slackened  his  horse's  pace. 
The  girl  was  a  rod  or  more  ahead,  and  just  vanishing 
behind  a  clump  of  sage-brush.  She  vanished,  and  he 
stopped  for  an  instant,  and  looked  about  him  on  the  deso- 
lation; and  a  great  loneliness  settled  upon  hitn  like  a 


THE   PURSUIT  45 

frenzy.  He  was  glad  to  see  the  girl  riding  back  toward 
him  with  a  smile  of  good  fellowship  on  her  face. 

''  What's  the  matter?''  she  called.  ''Come  on!  There's 
water  in  the  valley." 

The  sound  of  water  was  good;  and  life  seemed  suddenly 
good  for  no  reason  whatever  but  that  the  morning  was 
bright,  and  the  sky  was  wide,  and  there  was  water  in  the 
valley.  He  rode  forward,  keeping  close  beside  her  now, 
and  in  a  moment  there  gleamed  below  in  the  hot  sunshine 
the  shining  of  a  sparkling  stream. 

''You  seem  to  be  running  away  from  some  one,"  he 
explained.  "I  thought  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me, 
and  I  would  give  you  a  chance." 

She  looked  at  him  surprised. 

"I  am  running  away,"  she  said,  "but  not  from  you." 

"From  whom,  then,  may  I  ask?  It  might  be  conven- 
ient to  know,  if  we  are  to  travel  in  the  same  company." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"Who  are  you,  and  where  do  you  belong?" 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE   TWO    FUGITIVES 


*'I'm  not  anybody  in  particular,"  he  answered,  ''and 
I'm  not  just  sure  where  I  belong.  I  live  in  Pennsylvania, 
but  I  didn't  seem  to  belong  there  exactly,  at  least  not  just 
now,  and  so  I  came  out  here  to  see  if  I  belonged  anywhere 
else.  I  concluded  yesterday  that  I  didn't.  At  least, 
not  until  I  came  in  sight  of  you.  But  I  suspect  I  am 
running  away  myself.  In  fact,  that  is  just  what  I  am 
doing,  running  away  from  a  woman!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  honest  hazel  eyes,  and  she 
liked  him.  She  felt  he  was  telling  her  the  truth,  but  it 
seemed  to  be  a  truth  he  was  just  finding  out  for  himself 
as  he  talked. 

"Why  do  you  run  away  from  a  woman?  How  could 
a  woman  hurt  you?    Can  she  shoot?" 

He  flashed  her  a  look  of  amusement  and  pain  mingled. 

''She  uses  other  weapons,"  he  said.  "Her  words  are 
darts,  and  her  looks  are  swords." 

"What  a  queer  woman!     Does  she  ride  well?" 

"Yes,  in  an  automobile!" 

"What  is  that?"  She  asked  the  question  shyly  as  if 
she  feared  he  might  laugh  again;  and  he  looked  down,  and 
perceived  that  he  was  talking  far  above  her.  In  fact,  he 
was  talking  to  himself  more  than  to  the  girl. 

There  was  a  bitter  pleasure  in  speaking  of  his  lost  lady 
to  this  wild  creature  who  almost  seemed  of  another  kind, 
more  like  an  intelligent  bird  or  flower. 

46 


THE  TWO   FUGITIVES  47 

*'An  automobile  is  a  carriage  that  moves  about  with- 
out horses/'  he  answered  her  gravely.  ''It  moves  by 
machinery." 

"I  should  not  like  it,"  said  the  girl  decidedly.  "Horses 
are  better  than  machines.  I  saw  a  machine  once.  It 
was  to  cut  wheat.  It  made  a  noise,  and  did  not  go  fast.  It 
frightened  me." 

"But  automobiles  go  very  fast,  faster  than  any  horses. 
And  they  do  not  all  make  a  noise." 

The  girl  looked  around  apprehensively. 

"My  horse  can  go  very  fast.  You  do  not  know  how 
fast.  If  you  see  her  coming,  I  will  change  horses  with 
you.  You  must  ride  to  the  nearest  bench  and  over,  and 
then  turn  backward  on  your  tracks.  She  will  never  find 
you  that  way.     And  I  am  not  afraid  of  a  woman." 

The  man  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh,  loud  and  long. 
He  laughed  until  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks;  and 
the  girl,  offended,  rode  haughtily  beside  him.  Then  all 
in  a  moment  he  grew  quite  grave. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said;  "I  am  not  laughing  at  you  now, 
though  it  looks  that  way.  I  am  laughing  out  of  the 
bitterness  of  my  soul  at  the  picture  you  put  before  me. 
Although  I  am  running  away  from  her,  the  lady  will  not 
come  out  in  her  automobile  to  look  for  me.  She  does 
not  want  me!" 

"She  does  not  want  you!  And  yet  you  ran  away 
from  her?" 

"That's  exactly  it,"  he  said.  "You  see,  /  wanted 
her!'' 

"Oh!"  She  gave  a  sharp,  quick  gasp  of  intelligence, 
and  was  silent.  After  a  full  minute  she  rode  quite  close  to 
his  horse,  and  laid  her  small  brown  hand  on  the  animal's 
mane. 


48  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

"I  am  sorry/'  she  said  simply. 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered.  *'I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
why  I  told  you.     I  never  told  any  one  before." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  The  man 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  as  he  rode  with  his  eyes 
upon  his  horse's  neck,  and  his  thoughts  apparently  far 
away. 

At  last  the  girl  said  softly,  as  if  she  were  rendering 
return  for  the  confidence  given  her,  "I  ran  away  from  a 
man." 

The  man  lifted  his  eyes  courteously,  questioningly, 
and  waited. 

"He  is  big  and  dark  and  handsome.  He  shoots  to 
kill.  He  killed  my  brother.  I  hate  him.  He  wants  me, 
and  I  ran  away  from  him.  But  he  is  a  coward.  I  fright- 
ened him  away.  He  is  afraid  of  dead  men  that  he  has 
killed." 

The  young  man  gave  his  attention  now  to  the  extraor- 
dinary story  which  the  girl  told  as  if  it  were  a  common 
occurrence. 

"But  where  are  your  people,  your  family  and  friends? 
Why  do  they  not  send  the  man  away?" 

"They're  all  back  there  in  the  sand,"  she  said  with  a 
sad  little  flicker  of  a  smile  and  a  gesture  that  told  of 
tragedy.  "I  said  the  prayer  over  them.  Mother  always 
wanted  it  when  we  died.  There  wasn't  anybody  left  but 
me.  I  said  it,  and  then  I  came  away.  It  was  cold  moon- 
light, and  there  were  noises.  The  horse  was  afraid. 
But  I  said  it.     Do  you  suppose  it  will  do  any  good?" 

She  fastened  her  eyes  upon  the  young  man  with  her 
last  words  as  if  demanding  an  answer.  The  color  came 
up  to  his  cheeks.  He  felt  embarrassed  at  such  a  question 
before  her  trouble. 


THE  TWO   FUGITIVES  49 

''Why,  I  should  think  it  ought  to,"  he  stammered. 
"Of  course  it  will,"  he  added  with  more  confident  com- 
fort. 

''  Did  you  ever  say  the  prayer?" 

"  Why,  —  I  —  yes,  I  believe  I  have,"  he  answered 
somewhat  uncertainly. 

" Did  it  do  any  good?"     She  hung  upon  his  words. 

"  Why,  I  —  believe  —  yes,  I  suppose  it  did.  That  is, 
praying  is  always  a  good  thing.  The  fact  is,  it's  a  long 
time  since  I've  tried  it.     But  of  course  it's  all  right." 

A  curious  topic  for  conversation  between  a  young  man 
and  woman  on  a  ride  through  the  wilderness.  The  man 
had  never  thought  about  prayer  for  so  many  minutes 
consecutively  in  the  whole  of  his  life;  at  least,  not  since 
the  days  when  his  nurse  tried  to  teach  him  ''Now  I  lay 
me." 

"Why  don't  you  try  it  about  the  lady?"  asked  the  girl 
suddenly. 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"Don't  you  believe  it  will  do  any  good?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  might." 

"Then  let's  try  it.  Let's  get  off  now,  quick,  and  both 
say  it.  Maybe  it  will  help  us  both.  Do  you  know  it  all 
through?  Can't  you  say  it?"  This  last  anxiously,  as  he 
hesitated  and  looked  doubtful. 

The  color  came  into  the  man's  face.  Somehow  this 
girl  put  him  in  a  very  bad  light.  He  couldn't  shoot;  and, 
if  he  couldn't  pray,  what  would  she  think  of  him? 

"Why,  I  think  I  could  manage  to  say  it  with  help," 
he  answered  uneasily.  "But  what  if  that  man  should 
suddenly  appear  on  the  scene?" 

"You  don't  think  the  prayer  is  any  good,  or  you 
wouldn't  say  that."     She  said  it  sadly,  hopelessly. 


50  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

"O,  why,  certainly/'  he  said,  ''only  I  thought  there 
might  be  some  better  time  to  try  it;  but,  if  you  say  so, 
we'll  stop  right  here."  He  sprang  to  the  ground,  and 
offered  to  assist  her;  but  she  was  beside  him  before  he 
could  get  around  his  horse's  head. 

Down  she  dropped,  and  clasped  her  hands  as  a  little 
child  might  have  done,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Our  Father,"  she  repeated  slowly,  precisely,  as  if 
every  word  belonged  to  a  charm  and  must  be  repeated 
just  right  or  it  would  not  work.  The  man's  mumbling 
words  halted  after  hers.  He  was  reflecting  upon  the 
curious  tableau  they  would  make  to  the  chance  passer-by 
on  the  desert  if  there  were  any  passers-by.  It  was 
strange,  this  aloneness.  There  was  a  wideness  here  that 
made  praying  seem  more  natural  than  it  would  have  been 
at  home  in  the  open  country. 

The  prayer,  by  reason  of  the  unaccustomed  lips,  went 
slowly;  but,  when  it  was  finished,  the  girl  sprang  to  her 
saddle  again  with  a  businesslike  expression. 

''I  feel  better,"  she  said  with  a  winning  smile.  "Don't 
you?    Don't  you  think  He  heard?" 

"Who  heard?" 

"Why,  'our  Father.'" 

"0,  certainly!  That  is,  I've  always  been  taught  to 
suppose  He  did.  I  haven't  much  experimental  knowl- 
edge in  this  line,  but  I  dare  say  it'll  do  some  good  some- 
where. Now  do  you  suppose  we  could  get  some  of  that 
very  sparkling  water?     I  feel  exceedingly  thirsty." 

They  spurred  their  horses,  and  were  soon  beside  the 
stream,  refreshing  themselves. 

"Did  you  ride  all  night?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Pretty  much,"  answered  the  man.  "I  stopped  once 
to  rest  a  few  minutes;  but  a  sound  in  the  distance  stirred 


THE   TWO   FUGITIVES  51 

me  up  again,  and  I  was  afraid  to  lose  my  chance  of  catch- 
ing you,  lest  I  should  be  hopelessly  lost.  You  see,  I  went 
out  with  a  party  hunting,  and  I  sulked  behind.  They 
went  off  up  a  steep  climb,  and  I  said  I'd  wander  around 
below  till  they  got  back,  or  perhaps  ride  back  to  camp; 
but,  when  I  tried  to  find  the  camp,  it  wasn't  where  I  had 
left  it." 

''Well,  you've  got  to  lie  down  and  sleep  awhile,"  said 
the  girl  decidedly.  ''You  can't  keep  going  like  that. 
It'll  kill  you.  You  lie  down,  and  I'll  watch,  and  get 
dinner.     I'm  going  to  cook  that  bird." 

He  demurred,  but  in  the  end  she  had  her  way;  for  he 
was  exceedingly  weary,  and  she  saw  it.  So  he  let  her 
spread  the  old  coat  down  for  him  while  he  gathered  some 
wood  for  a  fire,  and  then  he  lay  down  and  watched  her 
simple  preparations  for  the  meal.  Before  he  knew  it  he 
was  asleep. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  there  was  a  curious  blending 
of  dream  and  reality.  He  thought  his  lady  was  coming 
to  him  across  the  rough  plains  in  an  automobile,  with 
gray  wings  like  those  of  the  bird  the  girl  had  shot,  and 
his  prayer  as  he  knelt  in  the  sand  was  drawing  her,  while 
overhead  the  air  was  full  of  a  wild,  sweet  music  from 
strange  birds  that  mocked  and  called  and  trilled.  But, 
when  the  automobile  reached  him  and  stopped,  the  lady 
withered  into  a  little,  old,  dried-up  creature  of  ashes; 
and  the  girl  of  the  plains  was  sitting  in  her  place  radiant 
and  beautiful. 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  rude  little  dinner  set, 
and  smelt  the  delicious  odor  of  the  roasted  bird.  The 
girl  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  gravely 
whistling  a  most  extraordinary  song,  like  unto  all  the 
birds  of  the  air  at  once. 


52  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

She  had  made  a  little  cake  out  of  the  corn-meal,  and 
they  feasted  royally. 

''I  caught  two  fishes  in  the  brook.  We'll  take  them 
along  for  supper,"  she  said  as  they  packed  the  things  again 
for  starting.  He  tried  to  get  her  to  take  a  rest  also,  and 
let  him  watch;  but  she  insisted  that  they  must  go  on,  and 
promised  to  rest  just  before  dark.  'Tor  we  must  travel 
hard  at  night,  you  know,"  she  added  fearfully. 

He  questioned  her  more  about  the  man  who  might  be 
pursuing,  and  came  to  understand  her  fears. 

''The  scoundrel!"  he  muttered,  looking  at  the  deHcate 
features  and  clear,  lovely  profile  of  the  girl.  He  felt  a 
strong  desire  to  throttle  the  evil  man. 

He  asked  a  good  many  questions  about  her  life,  and 
was  filled  with  wonder  over  the  flower-like  girl  who  seemed 
to  have  blossomed  in  the  wilderness  with  no  hand  to  cul- 
tivate her  save  a  lazy,  clever,  drunken  father,  and  a  kind 
but  ignorant  mother.  How  could  she  have  escaped  being 
coarsened  amid  such  surroundings.  How  was  it,  with 
such  brothers  as  she  had,  that  she  had  come  forth  as 
lovely  and  unhurt  as  she  seemed?  He  somehow  began  to 
feel  a  great  anxiety  for  her  lonely  future  and  a  desire  to 
put  her  in  the  way  of  protection.  But  at  present  they 
were  still  in  the  wilderness;  and  he  began  to  be  glad  that 
he  was  here  too,  and  might  have  the  privilege  of  protecting 
her  now,  if  there  should  be  need. 

As  it  grew  toward  evening,  they  came  upon  a  little 
grassy  spot  in  a  coulee  where  the  horses  might  rest  and 
eat.  Here  they  stopped,  and  the  girl  threw  herself  under 
a  shelter  of  trees,  with  the  old  coat  for  a  pillow,  and 
rested,  while  the  man  paced  up  and  down  at  a  distance, 
gathering  wood  for  a  fire,  and  watching  the  horizon.  As 
night  came  on,  the  city-bred  man  longed  for  shelter.    He 


THE   TWO   FUGITIVES  53 

was  by  no  means  a  coward  where  known  quantities  were 
concerned,  but  to  face  wild  animals  and  drunken  brigands 
in  a  strange,  wild  plain  with  no  help  near  was  anything 
but  an  enlivening  prospect.  He  could  not  understand 
why  they  had  not  come  upon  some  human  habitation  by 
this  time.  He  had  never  realized  how  vast  this  country 
was  before.  When  he  came  westward  on  the  train  he 
did,  not  remember  to  have  traversed  such  long  stretches 
of  country  without  a  sign  of  civilization,  though  of  course 
a  train  went  so  much  faster  than  a  horse  that  he  had  no 
adequate  means  of  judging.  Then,  besides,  they  were 
on  no  trail  now,  and  had  probably  gone  in  a  most  round- 
about way  to  anywhere.  In  reality  they  had  twice  come 
within  five  miles  of  little  homesteads,  tucked  away  be- 
side a  stream  in  a  fertile  spot;  but  they  had  not  known  it. 
A  mile  further  to  the  right  at  one  spot  would  have  put 
them  on  the  trail  and  made  their  way  easier  and  shorter, 
but  that  they  could  not  know. 

The  girl  did  not  rest  long.  She  seemed  to  feel  her  pur- 
suit more  as  the  darkness  crept  on,  and  kept  anxiously 
looking  for  the  moon. 

"  We  must  go  toward  the  moon,"  she  said  as  she  watched 
the  bright  spot  coming  in  the  east. 

They  ate  their  supper  of  fish  and  corn-bread  with  the 
appetite  that  grows  on  horseback,  and  by  the  time  they 
had  started  on  their  way  again  the  moon  spread  a  path  of 
silver  before  them,  and  they  went  forward  feeling  as  if 
they  had  known  each  other  a  long  time.  For  a  while 
their  fears  and  hopes  were  blended  in  one. 

Meantime,  as  the  sun  sank  and  the  moon  rose,  a  traveller 
rode  up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  little  lonely  cabin  which 
the  girl  had  left.  He  was  handsome  and  dark  and  strong, 
with  a  scarlet  kerchief  knotted  at  his  throat;  and  he  rode 


54  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

slowly,  cautiously,  looking  furtively  about  and  ahead  of 
him.  He  was  doubly  armed,  and  his  pistols  gleamed  in 
the  moonlight,  while  an  ugly  knife  nestled  keenly  in  a 
secret  sheath. 

He  was  wricked,  for  the  look  upon  his  face  was  not  good 
to  see;  and  he  was  a  coward,  for  he  started  at  the  flutter 
of  a  night-bird  hurrying  late  to  its  home  in  a  rock  by  the 
wayside.  The  mist  rising  from  the  valley  in  wreaths  of 
silver  gauze  startled  him  again  as  he  rounded  the  trail  to 
the  cabin,  and  for  an  instant  he  stopped  and  drew  his 
dagger,  thinking  the  ghost  he  feared  w^as  walking  thus 
early.  A  draught  from  the  bottle  he  carried  in  his  pocket 
steadied  his  nerves,  and  he  went  on,  but  stopped  again  in 
front  of  the  cabin;  for  there  stood  another  horse,  and 
there  in  the  doorway  stood  a  figure  in  the  darkness! 
His  curses  rang  through  the  still  air  and  smote  the  moon- 
light. His  pistol  flashed  forth  a  volley  of  fire  to  second 
him. 

In  answer  to  his  demand  who  was  there  came  another 
torrent  of  profanity.  It  was  one  of  his  comrades  of  the 
day  before.  He  explained  that  he  and  two  others  had 
come  up  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  pretty  girl.  They  had  had 
a  wager  as  to  who  could  win  her,  and  they  had  come  to 
try;  but  she  was  not  here.  The  door  was  fastened. 
They  had  forced  it.  There  w^as  no  sign  of  her  about. 
The  other  two  had  gone  down  to  the  place  where  her 
brother  was  buried  to  see  whether  she  was  there.  Women 
were  known  to  be  sentimental.  She  might  be  that  kind. 
He  had  agreed  to  wait  here,  but  he  was  getting  uneasy. 
Perhaps,  if  the  other  two  found  her,  they  might  not  be 
fair. 

The  last  comer  with  a  mighty  oath  explained  that  the 
girl  belonged  to  him,  and  that  no  one  had  a  right  to  her. 


THE  TWO  FUGITIVES  55 

He  demanded  that  the  other  come  with  him  to  the  grave, 
and  see  what  had  become  of  the  girl;  and  then  they  would 
all  go  and  drink  together  —  but  the  girl  belonged  to  him. 

They  rode  to  the  place  of  the  graves,  and  met  the  two 
others  returning;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  girl,  and 
the  three  taunted  the  one,  saying  that  the  girl  had  given 
him  the  slip.  Amid  much  argument  as  to  whose  she  was 
and  where  she  was,  they  rode  on  cursing  through  God's 
beauty.  They  passed  the  bottle  continually,  that  their 
nerves  might  be  the  steadier;  and,  when  they  came  to  the 
deserted  cabin  once  more,  they  paused  and  discussed 
what  to  do. 

At  last  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  start  on  a  quest 
after  her,  and  with  oaths,  and  coarse  jests,  and  drinking, 
they  started  down  the  trail  of  which  the  girl  had  gone  in 
search  by  her  roundabout  way. 


CHAPTER  V 


A  NIGHT  RIDE 


It  was  a  wonderful  night  that  the  two  spent  wading  the 
sea  of  moonlight  together  on  the  plain.  The  almost  un- 
earthly beauty  of  the  scene  grew  upon  them.  They  had 
none  of  the  loneliness  that  had  possessed  each  the  nigh*^- 
before,  and  might  now  discover  all  the  wonders  of  the  way. 

Early  in  the  way  they  came  upon  a  prairie-dogs'  village, 
and  the  man  would  have  lingered  watching  with  curiosity, 
had  not  the  girl  urged  him  on.  It  was  the  time  of  night 
when  she  had  started  to  run  away,  and  the  same  appre- 
hension that  filled  her  then  came  upon  her  with  the 
evening.  She  longed  to  be  out  of  the  land  which  held 
the  man  she  feared.  She  would  rather  bury  herself  in  the 
earth  and  smother  to  death  than  be  caught  by  him. 
But,  as  they  rode  on,  she  told  her  companion  much  of  the 
habits  of  the  curious  little  creatures  they  had  seen;  and 
then,  as  the  night  settled  down  upon  them,  she  pointed 
out  the  dark,  stealing  creatures  that  slipped  from  their 
way  now  and  then,  or  gleamed  with  a  fearsome  green  eye 
from  some  temporary  refuge. 

At  first  the  cold  shivers  kept  running  up  and  down  the 
young  man  as  he  realized  that  here  before  him  in  the 
sage-brush  was  a  real  live  animal  about  which  he  had 
read  so  much,  and  which  he  had  come  out  bravely  to 
hunt.  He  kept  his  hand  upon  his  revolver,  and  was 
constantly  on  the  alert,  nervously  looking  behind  lest  a 
troop  of  coj^otes  or  wolves  should  be  quietly  stealing  upon 

56 


A   NIGHT  RIDE  57 

him.  But,  as  the  girl  talked  fearlessly  of  them  in  much 
the  same  way  as  we  talk  of  a  neighbor's  fierce  dog,  he 
grew  gradually  calmer,  and  was  able  to  watch  a  dark, 
velvet-footed  moving  object  ahead  without  starting. 

By  and  by  he  pointed  to  the  heavens,  and  talked  of  the 
stars.  Did  she  know  that  constellation?  No?  Then  he 
explained.  Such  and  such  stars  were  so  many  miles 
from  the  earth.  He  told  their  names,  and  a  bit  of  my- 
thology connected  with  the  name,  and  then  went  on  to 
speak  of  the  moon,  and  the  possibility  of  its  once  having 
been  inhabited. 

The  girl  listened  amazed.  She  knew  certain  stars  as 
landmarks,  telling  east  from  west  and  north  from  south; 
and  she  had  often  watched  them  one  by  one  coming  out, 
and  counted  them  her  friends;  but  that  they  were  worlds, 
and  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  earth  knew  anything 
whatever  about  the  heavenly  bodies,  she  had  never  heard. 
Question  after  question  she  plied  him  with,  some  of  them 
showing  extraordinary  intelligence  and  thought,  and 
others  showing  deeper  ignorance  than  a  little  child  in  our 
kindergartens  would  show. 

He  wondered  more  and  more  as  their  talk  went  on. 
He  grew  deeply  interested  in  unfolding  the  wonders  of  the 
heavens  to  her;  and,  as  he  studied  her  pure  profile  in  the 
moonlight  with  eager,  searching,  wistful  gaze,  her  beauty 
impressed  him  more  and  more.  In  the  East  the  man 
had  a  friend,  an  artist.  He  thought  how  wonderful  a 
theme  for  a  painting  this  scene  would  make.  The  girl  in 
picturesque  hat  of  soft  felt,  riding  with  careless  ease  and 
grace;  horse,  maiden,  plain,  bathed  in  a  sea  of  silver. 

More  and  more  as  she  talked  the  man  wondered  how 
this  girl  reared  in  the  wilds  had  acquired  a  speech  so  free 
from  grammatical  errors.     She  was  apparently  deeply 


58  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

ignorant,  and  yet  with  a  very  few  exceptions  she  made  no 
serious  errors  in  English.  How  was  it  to  be  accounted 
for? 

He  began  to  ply  her  with  questions  about  herself,  but 
could  not  find  that  she  had  ever  come  into  contact  with 
people  who  were  educated.  She  had  not  even  lived  in  any 
of  the  miserable  little  towns  that  flourish  in  the  wildest 
of  the  West,  and  not  within  several  hundred  miles  of  a  city. 
Their  nearest  neighbors  in  one  direction  had  been  forty 
miles  away,  she  said,  and  said  it  as  if  that  were  an  every- 
day distance  for  a  neighbor  to  live. 

Mail?  They  had  had  a  letter  once  that  she  could  remem- 
ber, when  she  was  a  little  girl.  It  was  just  a  few  lines  in 
pencil  to  say  that  her  mother's  father  had  died.  He  had 
been  killed  in  an  accident  of  some  sort,  working  in  the  city 
where  he  lived.  Her  mother  had  kept  the  letter  and 
cried  over  it  till  almost  all  the  pencil  marks  were  gone. 

No,  they  had  no  mail  on  the  mountain  where  their 
homestead  was. 

Yes,  her  father  went  there  first  because  he  thought  he 
had  discovered  gold,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  a  mistake; 
so,  as  they  had  no  other  place  to  go  to,  and  no  money  to 
go  with,  they  had  just  stayed  there;  and  her  father  and 
brothers  had  been  cow-punchers,  but  she  and  her  mother 
had  scarcely  ever  gone  away  from  home.  There  were 
the  little  children  to  care  for;  and,  when  they  died,  her 
mother  did  not  care  to  go,  and  would  not  let  her  go  far 
alone. 

O,  yes,  she  had  ridden  a  great  deal,  sometimes  with  her 
brothers,  but  not  often.  They  went  with  rough  men, 
and  her  mother  felt  afraid  to  have  her  go.  The  men  all 
drank.  Her  brothers  drank.  Her  father  drank  too. 
She  stated  it  as  if  it  were  a  sad  fact  common  to  all  man- 


A   NIGHT  RIDE  59 

kind,  and  ended  with  the  statement  which  was  almost, 
not  quite,  a  question,  ''I  guess  you  drink  too." 

"Well,"  said  the  young  man  hesitatingly,  ''not  that 
way.  I  take  a  glass  of  wine  now  and  then  in  company, 
you  know " 

*'Yes,  I  know,"  sighed  the  girl.  "Men  are  all  alike. 
Mother  used  to  say  so.  She  said  men  were  different  from 
women.  They  had  to  drink.  She  said  they  all  did  it. 
Only  she  said  her  father  never  did;  but  he  was  very  good, 
though  he  had  to  work  hard." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  young  man,  his  color  rising  in  the 
moonlight,  "indeed,  you  make  a  mistake.  I  don't  drink 
at  all,  not  that  way.  I'm  not  like  them.  I  —  why,  I 
only  —  well,  the  fact  is,  I  don't  care  a  red  cent  about  the 
stuff  anyway;  and  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I'm  like 
them.  If  it  will  do  you  any  good,  I'll  never  touch  it 
again,  not  a  drop." 

He  said  it  earnestly.  He  was  trying  to  vindicate  him- 
self. Just  why  he  should  care  to  do  so  he  did  not  know, 
only  that  all  at  once  it  was  very  necessary  that  he  should 
appear  different  in  the  eyes  of  this  girl  from  the  other  men 
she  had  known. 

"Will  you  really?"  she  asked,  turning  to  look  in  his 
face.     "Will  you  promise  that?" 

"Why,  certainly  I  will,"  he  said,  a  trifle  embarrassed 
that  she  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  "Of  course  I  will. 
I  tell  you  it's  nothing  to  me.  I  only  took  a  glass  at  the 
club  occasionally  when  the  other  men  were  drinking,  and 
sometimes  when  I  went  to  banquets,  class  banquets,  you 
know,  and  dinners " 

Now  the  girl  had  never  heard  of  class  banquets,  but  to 
take  a  glass  occasionally  when  the  other  men  were  drink- 
ing was  what  her  brothers  did;  and  so  she  sighed,  and 


60  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

said:  "Yes,  you  may  promise,  but  I  know  you  won^t  keep 
it.  Father  promised  too;  but,  when  he  got  with  the  other 
men,  it  did  no  good.     Men  are  all  alike." 

''But  I'm  not,"  he  insisted  stoutly.  "I  tell  you  I'm 
not.  I  don't  drink,  and  I  won't  drink.  I  promise  you 
solemnly  here  under  God's  sky  that  I'll  never  drink 
another  drop  of  intoxicating  liquor  again  if  I  know  it  as 
long  as  I  Uve." 

He  put  out  his  hand  toward  her,  and  she  put  her  own 
into  it  with  a  quick  grasp  for  just  an  instant. 

"Then  you're  not  like  other  men,  after  all,"  she  said 
with  a  glad  ring  in  her  voice.  ''That  must  be  why  I 
wasn't  so  very  much  afraid  of  you  when  I  woke  up  and 
found  you  standing  there." 

A  distinct  sense  of  pleasure  came  over  him  at  her  words. 
Why  it  should  make  him  glad  that  she  had  not  been 
afraid  of  him  when  she  had  first  seen  him  in  the  wilder- 
ness he  did  not  know.  He  forgot  all  about  his  own 
troubles.  He  forgot  the  lady  in  the  automobile.  Right 
then  and  there  he  dropped  her  out  of  his  thoughts.  He 
did  not  know  it;  but  she  was  forgotten,  and  he  did  not 
think  about  her  any  more  during  that  journey.  Some- 
thing had  erased  her.  He  had  run  away  from  her,  and 
he  had  succeeded  most  effectually,  more  so  than  he  knew. 

There  in  the  desert  the  man  took  his  first  temperance 
pledge,  urged  thereto  by  a  girl  who  had  never  heard  of  a 
temperance  pledge  in  her  life,  had  never  joined  a  woman's 
temperance  society,  and  knew  nothing  about  women's 
crusades.  Her  own  heart  had  taught  her  out  of  a  bitter 
experience  just  how  to  use  her  God-given  influence. 

They  came  to  a  long  stretch  of  level  ground  then, 
smooth  and  hard ;  and  the  horses  as  with  common  consent 
set  out  to  gallop  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  a  wild,  exhilarat- 


A    NIGHT   RIDE  61 

ing  skim  across  the  plain.  Talking  was  impossible.  The 
man  reflected  that  he  was  making  great  strides  in  experi- 
ence, first  a  prayer  and  then  a  pledge,  all  in  the  wilderness. 
If  any  one  had  told  him  he  was  going  into  the  West  for 
this,  he  would  have  laughed  him  to  scorn. 

Towards  morning  they  rode  more  slowly.  Their  horses 
were  growing  jaded.  They  talked  in  lower  tones  as  they 
looked  toward  the  east.  It  was  as  if  they  feared  they 
might  waken  some  one  too  soon.  There  is  something 
awesome  about  the  dawning  of  a  new  day,  and  especially 
when  one  has  been  sailing  a  sea  of  silver  all  night.  It  is 
like  coming  back  from  an  unreal  world  into  a  sad,  real  one. 
Each  was  almost  sorry  that  the  night  was  over.  The  new 
day  might  hold  so  much  of  hardship  or  relief,  so  much  of 
trouble  or  surprise;  and  this  night  had  been  perfect,  a 
jewel  cut  to  set  in  memory  with  every  facet  flashing  to 
the  light.  They  did  not  like  to  get  back  to  reality  from 
the  converse  they  had  held  together.  It  was  an  experi- 
ence for  each  which  would  never  be  forgotten. 

Once  there  came  the  distant  sound  of  shots  and  shouts. 
The  two  shrank  nearer  each  other,  and  the  man  laid  his 
strong  hand  protectingly  on  the  mane  of  the  girl's  horse; 
but  he  did  not  touch  her  hand.  The  lady  of  his  thoughts 
had  sometimes  let  him  hold  her  jewelled  hand,  and  smiled 
with  drooping  lashes  when  he  fondled  it;  and,  when  she 
had  tired  of  him,  other  admirers  might  claim  the  same 
privilege.  But  this  woman  of  the  wilderness  —  he  would 
not  even  in  his  thoughts  presume  to  touch  her  little 
brown,  firm  hand.  Somehow  she  had  commanded  his 
honor  and  respect  from  the  first  minute,  even  before  she 
shot  the  bird. 

Once  a  bob-cat  shot  across  their  path  but  a  few  feet  in 
front  of  them,  and  later  a  kit-fox  ran  growling  up  with 


62  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

ruffled  fur;  but  the  girl's  quick  shot  soon  put  it  to  flight, 
and  they  passed  on  through  the  dawning  morning  of  the 
first  real  Sabbath  day  the  girl  had  ever  known. 

*'It  is  Sunday  morning  at  home/'  said  the  man  gravely 
as  he  watched  the  sun  lift  its  rosy  head  from  the  mist 
of  mountain  and  valley  outspread  before  them.  "Do 
you  have  such  an  institution  out  here?'^ 

The  girl  grew  white  about  the  lips.  ''Awful  things 
happen  on  Sunday/'  she  said  with  a  shudder. 

He  felt  a  great  pity  rising  in  his  heart  for  her,  and 
strove  to  turn  her  thoughts  in  other  directions.  Evi- 
dently there  was  a  recent  sorrow  connected  with  the 
Sabbath. 

"You  are  tired/'  said  he,  "and  the  horses  are  tired. 
See!  We  ought  to  stop  and  rest.  The  daylight  has  come, 
and  nothing  can  hurt  us.  Here  is  a  good  place,  and 
sheltered.  We  can  fasten  the  horses  behind  these  bushes, 
and  no  one  will  guess  we  are  here." 

She  assented,  and  they  dismounted.  The  man  cut  an 
opening  into  a  clump  of  thick  growth  with  his  knife,  and 
there  they  fastened  the  weary  horses,  well  hidden  from 
sight  if  any  one  chanced  that  way.  The  girl  lay  down  a 
few  feet  away  in  a  spot  almost  entirely  surrounded  by 
sage-brush  which  had  reached  an  unusual  height  and 
made  a  fine  hiding-place.  Just  outside  the  entrance  of 
this  natural  chamber  the  man  lay  down  on  a  fragrant  bed 
of  sage-brush.  He  had  gathered  enough  for  the  girl  first, 
and  spread  out  the  old  coat  over  it;  and  she  had  dropped 
asleep  almost  as  soon  as  she  lay  down.  But,  although 
his  own  bed  of  sage-brush  was  tolerably  comfortable, 
even  to  one  accustomed  all  his  life  to  the  finest  springs 
and  hair  mattress  that  money  could  buy,  and  although 
the  girl  had  insisted  that  he  must  rest  too,  for  he  was 


A   NIGHT  RIDE  63 

weary  and  there  was  no  need  to  watch,  sleep  would  not 
come  to  his  eyelids. 

He  lay  there  resting  and  thinking.  How  strange  was 
the  experience  through  which  he  was  passing!  Came 
ever  a  wealthy,  college-bred,  society  man  into  the  like 
before?  What  did  it  all  mean?  His  being  lost,  his 
wandering  for  a  day,  the  sight  of  this  girl  and  his  pursuit, 
the  prayer  under  the  open  sky,  and  that  night  of  splendor 
under  the  moonlight  riding  side  by  side.  It  was  like 
some  marvellous  tale. 

And  this  girl!  Where  was  she  going?  What  was  to 
become  of  her?  Out  in  the  world  where  he  came  from, 
were  they  ever  to  reach  it,  she  would  be  nothing.  Her 
station  in  life  was  beneath  his  so  far  that  the  only  recog- 
nition she  could  have  would  be  one  which  would  degrade 
her.  This  solitary  journey  they  were  taking,  how  the 
world  would  lift  up  its  hands  in  horror  at  it !  A  girl  with- 
out a  chaperon!  She  was  impossible!  And  yet  it  all 
seemed  right  and  good,  and  the  girl  was  evidently  recog- 
nized by  the  angels;  else  how  had  she  escaped  from  degra- 
dation thus  far? 

Ah!  How  did  he  know  she  had?  But  he  smiled  at 
that.  No  one  could  look  into  that  pure,  sweet  face,  and 
doubt  that  she  was  as  good  as  she  was  beautiful.  If  it 
was  not  so,  he  hoped  he  would  never  find  it  out  She 
seemed  to  him  a  woman  yet  unspoiled,  and  he  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  what  the  world  might  do  for  her  — 
the  world  and  its  cultivation,  which  would  not  be  for  her, 
because  she  was  friendless  and  without  money  or  home. 
The  world  would  have  nothing  but  toil  to  give  her,  with 
a  meagre  living. 

Where  was  she  going,  and  what  was  she  proposing 
to  do?     Must  he  not  try  to  help  her  in  some  way?     Did 


64  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

not  the  fact  that  she  had  saved  his  life  demand  so  much 
from  him?  If  he  had  not  found  her,  he  must  surely  have 
starved  before  he  got  out  of  this  wild  place.  Even  yet 
starvation  was  not  an  impossibility;  for  they  had  not 
reached  any  signs  of  habitation  yet,  and  there  was  but 
one  more  portion  of  corn-meal  and  a  little  coffee  left. 
They  had  but  two  matches  now,  and  there  had  been  no 
more  flights  of  birds,  nor  brooks  with  fishes. 

In  fact,  the  man  found  a  great  deal  to  worry  about  as 
he  lay  there,  too  weary  with  the  unaccustomed  exercise 
and  experiences  to  sleep. 

He  reflected  that  the  girl  had  told  him  very  little,  after 
all,  about  her  plans.  He  must  ask  her.  He  wished 
he  knew  more  of  her  family.  If  he  were  only  older 
and  she  younger,  or  if  he  had  the  right  kind  of  a 
woman  friend  to  whom  he  might  take  her,  or  send  her! 
How  horrible  that  that  scoundrel  was  after  her!  Such 
men  were  not  men,  but  beasts,  and  should  be  shot 
down. 

Far  off  in  the  distance,  it  might  have  been  in  the  air 
or  in  his  imagination,  there  sometimes  floated  a  sound  as 
of  faint  voices  or  shouts;  but  they  came  and  went,  and  he 
listened,  and  by  and  by  heard  no  more.  The  horses 
breathed  heavily  behind  their  sage-brush  stable,  and  the 
sun  rose  higher  and  hotter.  At  last  sleep  came,  troubled, 
fitful,  but  sleep,  oblivion.  This  time  there  was  no  lady 
in  an  automobile. 

It  was  high  noon  when  he  awoke,  for  the  sun  had 
reached  around  the  sage-brush,  and  was  pouring  full  into 
his  face.  He  was  very  uncomfortable,  and  moreover  an 
uneasy  sense  of  something,  wrong  pervaded  his  mind. 
Had  he,  or  had  he  not,  heard  a  strange,  low,  sibilant, 
writhing  sound  just  as  he  came  to  consciousness?    Why 


A   NIGHT  RIDE  65 

did  he  feel  that  something,  some  one,  had  passed  him  but 
a  moment  before? 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  open,  and  fanned  himself  with  his 
hat.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  save  a  distant 
hawk  in  the  heavens,  and  the  breathing  of  the  horses. 
He  stepped  over,  and  made  sure  that  they  were  all  right, 
and  then  came  back.  Was  the  girl  still  sleeping?  Should 
he  call  her?  But  what  should  he  call  her?  She  had  no 
name  to  him  as  yet.  He  could  not  say,  *'  My  dear  madam '' 
in  the  wilderness,  nor  yet  '^mademoiselle." 

Perhaps  it  was  she  who  had  passed  him.  Perhaps  she 
was  looking  about  for  water,  or  for  fire-wood.  He  cast 
his  eyes  about,  but  the  thick  growth  of  sage-brush  every- 
where prevented  his  seeing  much.  He  stepped  to  the 
right  and  then  to  the  left  of  the  little  enclosure  where  she 
had  gone  to  sleep,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  life. 

At  last  the  sense  of  uneasiness  grew  upon  him  until  he 
spoke. 

*'Are  you  awake  yet?"  he  ventured;  but  the  words 
somehow  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  would  not  sound  out 
clearly.  He  ventured  the  question  again,  but  it  seemed 
to  go  no  further  than  the  gray-green  foliage  in  front  of 
him.  Did  he  catch  an  alert  movement,  the  sound  of 
attention,  alarm?    Had  he  perhaps  frightened  her? 

His  flesh  grew  creepy,  and  he  was  angry  with  himself 
that  he  stood  here  actually  trembling  and  for  no  reason. 
He  felt  that  there  was  danger  in  the  air.  What  could 
it  mean?  He  had  never  been  a  believer  in  premonitions 
or  superstitions  of  any  kind.  But  the  thought  came  to 
him  that  perhaps  that  evil  man  had  come  softly  while  he 
slept,  and  had  stolen  the  girl  away.  Then  all  at  once  a 
horror  seized  him,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  end  this 
suspense  and  venture  in  to  see  whether  she  were  safe. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    CHRISTIAN    ENDEAVOR    MEETING    IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

He  stepped  boldly  around  the  green  barrier,  and  his 
first  glance  told  him  she  was  lying  there  still  asleep;  but 
the  consciousness  of  another  presence  held  him  from 
going  away.  There,  coiled  on  the  ground  with  venomous 
fangs  extended  and  eyes  glittering  like  slimy  jewels,  was 
a  rattlesnake,  close  beside  her. 

For  a  second  he  gazed  with  a  kind  of  fascinated  horror, 
and  his  brain  refused  to  act.  Then  he  knew  he  must  do 
something,  and  at  once.  He  had  read  of  serpents  and 
travellers'  encounters  with  them,  but  no  memory  of  what 
was  to  be  done  under  such  circumstances  came.  Shoot? 
He  dared  not.  He  would  be  more  likely  to  kill  the  girl 
than  the  serpent,  and  in  any  event  would  precipitate  the 
calamity.  Neither  was  there  any  way  to  awaken  the  girl 
and  drag  her  from  peril,  for  the  slightest  movement  upon 
her  part  would  bring  the  poisoned  fangs  upon  her. 

He  cast  his  eyes  about  for  some  weapon,  but  there  was 
not  a  stick  or  a  stone  in  sight.  He  was  a  good  golf-player; 
if  he  had  a  loaded  stick,  he  could  easily  take  the  serpent's 
head  off,  he  thought;  but  there  was  no  stick.  There  was 
only  one  hope,  he  felt,  and  that  would  be  to  attract  the 
creature  to  himself;  and  he  hardly  dared  move  lest  the 
fascinated  gaze  should  close  upon  the  victim  as  she  lay 
there  sweetly  sleeping,  unaware  of  her  new  peril. 

Suddenly  he  knew  what  to  do.  Silently  he  stepped 
back  out  of  sight,  tore  off  his  coat,  and  then  cautiously 

66 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN  WILDERNESS        67 

approached  the  snake  again,  holding  the  coat  up  before 
him.  There  was  an  instant's  pause  when  he  calculated 
whether  the  coat  could  drop  between  the  snake  and  the 
smooth  brown  arm  in  front  before  the  terrible  fangs 
would  get  there;  and  then  the  coat  dropped,  the  man 
bravely  holding  one  end  of  it  as  a  wall  between  the  ser- 
pent and  the  girl,  crying  to  her  in  an  agony  of  frenzy  to 
awaken  and  run. 

There  was  a  terrible  moment  in  which  he  realized  that 
the  girl  was  saved  and  he  himself  was  in  peril  of  death, 
while  he  held  to  the  coat  till  the  girl  was  on  her  feet  in 
safety.  Then  he  saw  the  writhing  coil  at  his  feet  turn 
and  fasten  its  eyes  of  fury  upon  him.  He  was  conscious 
of  being  uncertain  whether  his  fingers  could  let  go  the 
coat,  and  whether  his  trembling  knees  could  carry  him 
away  before  the  serpent  struck;  then  it  was  all  over,  and 
he  and  the  girl  were  standing  outside  the  sage-brush,  with 
the  sound  of  the  pistol  dying  away  among  the  echoes, 
and  the  fine  ache  of  his  arm  where  her  fingers  had  grasped 
him  to  drag  him  from  danger. 

The  serpent  was  dead.  She  had  shot  it.  She  took 
that  as  coolly  as  she  had  taken  the  bird  in  its  flight.  But 
she  stood  looking  at  him  with  great  eyes  of  gratitude, 
and  he  looked  at  her  amazed  that  they  were  both  alive, 
and  scarcely  understanding  all  that  had  happened. 

The  girl  broke  the  stillness. 

"You  are  what  they  call  a  'tenderfoot,'"  she  said  sig- 
nificantly. 

"Yes,"  he  assented  humbly,  "I  guess  I  am.  I  couldn't 
have  shot  it  to  save  anybody's  life." 

"You  are  a  tenderfoot,  and  you  couldn't  shoot,"  she 
continued  eulogistically,  as  if  it  were  necessary  to  have 
it  all  stated  plainly,  "  but  you  —  you  are  what  my  brother 


68  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

used  to  call  'sl  white  man/  You  couldn't  shoot;  but  you 
could  risk  your  life,  and  hold  that  coat,  and  look  death 
in  the  face.     You  are  no  tenderfoot." 

There  was  eloquence  in  her  eyes,  and  in  her  voice  there 
were  tears.  She  turned  away  to  hide  if  any  were  in  her 
eyes.  But  the  man  put  out  his  hand  on  her  sure  little 
brown  one,  and  took  it  firmly  in  his  own,  looking  down 
upon  her  with  his  own  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  which  he 
was  not  ashamed. 

"And  what  am  I  to  say  to  you  for  saving  my  life?"  he 
said. 

"I?  O,  that  was  easy,"  said  the  girl,  rousing  to  the 
commonplace.  "I  can  always  shoot.  Only  you  were 
hard  to  drag  away.  You  seemed  to  want  to  stay  there 
and  die  with  your  coat." 

"They  laughed  at  me  for  wearing  that  coat  when  we 
started  away.  They  said  a  hunter  never  bothered  him- 
self with  extra  clothing,"  he  mused  as  they  walked  away 
from  the  terrible  spot. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  the  prayer?"  asked  the  girl  sud- 
denly. 

"It  may  be!"  said  the  man  with  wondering  accent. 

Then  quietly,  thoughtfully,  they  mounted  and  rode 
onward. 

Their  way,  due  east,  led  them  around  the  shoulder  of  a 
hill.  It  was  tolerably  smooth,  but  they  were  obliged  to 
go  single  file,  so  there  was  very  little  talking  done. 

It  was  nearly  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  all  at 
once  a  sound  reached  them  from  below,  a  sound  so  new 
that  it  was  startling.  They  stopped  their  horses,  and 
looked  at  each  other.  It  was  the  faint  sound  of  singing 
wafted  on  the  light  breeze,  singing  that  came  in  whiffs 
like  a  perfume,  and  then  died  out .    Cautiously  they  guided 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING    IN  WILDERNESS      69 

their  horses  on  around  the  hill,  keeping  close  together 
now.  It  was  plain  they  were  approaching  some  human 
being  or  beings.  No  bird  could  sing  like  that.  There 
were  indistinct  words  to  the  music. 

They  rounded  the  hillside,  and  stopped  again  side  by 
side.  There  below  them  lay  the  trail  for  which  they  had 
been  searching,  and  just  beneath  them,  nestled  against 
the  hill,  was  a  little  schoolhouse  of  logs,  weather-boarded., 
its  windows  open;  and  behind  it  and  around  it  were 
horses  tied,  some  of  them  hitched  to  wagons,  but  most 
of  them  with  saddles. 

The  singing  was  clear  and  distinct  now.  They  could 
hear  the  words.  *'0,  that  will  be  glory  for  me,  glory  for 
me,  glory  for  me " 

"What  is  it?"  she  whispered. 

^'Why,  I  suspect  it  is  a  Sunday  school  or  something 
of  the  kind." 

"O!     A  school!     Could  we  go  in?" 

"If  you  like,"  said  the  man,  enjoying  her  simplicity. 
"We  can  tie  our  horses  here  behind  the  building,  and  they 
can  rest.  There  is  fresh  grass  in  this  sheltered  place; 
see?" 

He  led  her  down  behind  the  schoolhouse  to  a  spot  where 
the  horses  could  not  be  seen  from  the  trail.  The  girl 
peered  curiously  around  the  corner  into  the  window. 
There  sat  two  young  girls  about  her  own  age,  and  one  of 
them  smiled  at  her.  It  seemed  an  invitation.  She  smiled 
back,  and  went  on  to  the  doorway  reassured.  When  she 
entered  the  room,  she  found  them  pointing  to  a  seat  near 
a  window,  behind  a  small  desk. 

There  were  desks  all  over  the  room  at  regular  intervals, 
and  a  larger  desk  up  in  front.  Almost  all  the  people  sat 
at  desks. 


70  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

There  was  a  curious  wooden  box  in  front  at  one  side  of 
the  big  desk,  and  a  girl  sat  before  it  pushing  down  some 
black  and  white  strips  that  looked  like  sticks,  and  making 
her  feet  go,  and  singing  with  all  her  might.  The  curious 
box  made  music,  the  same  music  the  people  were  sing- 
ing. Was  it  a  piano?  she  wondered.  She  had  heard  of 
pianos.  Her  father  used  to  talk  about  them.  O,  and 
what  was  that  her  mother  used  to  want?  A  "cab'net- 
organ."  Perhaps  this  was  a  cab'net-organ.  At  any  rate, 
she  was  entranced  with  the  music. 

Up  behind  the  man  who  sat  at  the  big  desk  was  a  large 
board  painted  black  with  some  white  marks  on  it.  The 
sunlight  glinted  across  it,  and  she  could  not  tell  what 
they  were;  but,  when  she  moved  a  little,  she  saw  quite 
clearly  it  was  a  large  cross  with  words  underneath  it  — 
^'He  will  hide  me.^' 

It  was  a  strange  place.  The  girl  looked  around  shyly, 
and  felt  submerged  in  the  volume  of  song  that  rolled 
around  her,  from  voices  untrained,  perhaps,  but  hearts 
that  knew  whereof  they  sang.  To  her  it  was  heavenly 
music,  if  she  had  the  least  conception  of  what  such 
music  was  like.  *' Glory,"  ''glory,"  ''glory!"  The  words 
seemed  to  fit  the  day,  and  the  sunshine,  and  the  deliver- 
ance that  had  come  to  her  so  recently.  She  looked 
around  for  her  companion  and  deliverer  to  enjoy  it  with 
him,  but  he  had  not  come  in  yet. 

The  two  girls  were  handing  her  a  book  now  and  point- 
ing to  the  place.  She  could  read.  Her  mother  had  taught 
her  just  a  little  before  the  other  children  were  born,  but 
not  much  in  the  way  of  literature  had  ever  come  in  her 
way.  She  grasped  the  book  eagerly,  hungrily,  and 
looked  where  the  finger  pointed.  Yes,  there  were  the 
words.  "Glory  for  me!"     "Glory  for  me!"     Did  that 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN  WILDERNESS       71 

mean  her?  Was  there  glory  for  her  anywhere  in  the 
world?  She  sighed  with  the  joy  of  the  possibility,  as  the 
''Glory  Song"  rolled  along,  led  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
one  who  had  recently  come  from  a  big  city  where  it  had 
been  sung  in  a  great  revival  service.  Some  kind  friend 
had  given  some  copies  of  a  leaflet  containing  it  and  a  few 
other  new  songs  to  this  little  handful  of  Christians,  and  they 
were  singing  them  as  if  they  had  been  a  thousand  strong. 

The  singing  ceased  and  the  man  at  the  big  desk  said, 
''Let  us  have  the  verses." 

"'The  eternal  God  is  thy  refuge,  and  underneath  are 
the  everlasting  arms,' "  said  a  careworn  woman  in  the 
front  seat. 

"'He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers,  and  under  his 
wings  shalt  thou  trust,'"  said  a  young  man  next. 

" '  In  the  time  of  trouble  he  shall  hide  me  in  his  pavilion; 
in  the  secret  of  his  tabernacle  shall  he  hide  me,' "  read  the 
girl  who  had  handed  the  book.  The  slip  of  paper  she  had 
written  it  on  fluttered  to  the  floor  at  the  feet  of  the 
stranger,  and  the  stranger  stooped  and  picked  it  up, 
offering  it  back;  but  the  other  girl  shook  her  head,  and 
the  stranger  kept  it,  looking  wonderingly  at  the  words, 
trying  to  puzzle  out  a  meaning. 

There  were  other  verses  repeated,  but  just  then  a  sound 
smote  upon  the  girl's  ear  which  deadened  all  others.  In 
spite  of  herself  she  began  to  tremble.  Even  her  lips 
seemed  to  her  to  move  with  the  weakness  of  her  fear. 
She  looked  up,  and  the  man  was  just  coming  toward  the 
door;  but  her  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  a  faint ness  seemed  to 
come  over  her. 

Up  the  trail  on  horseback,  with  shouts  and  ribald 
songs,  rode  four  rough  men,  too  drunk  to  know  where 
they  were  going.    The  little  schoolhouse  seemed  to  attract 


72  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

their  attention  as  they  passed,  and  just  for  deviltry  they 
shouted  out  a  volley  of  oaths  and  vile  talk  to  the  wor- 
shippers within.  One  in  particular,  the  leader,  looked 
straight  into  the  face  of  the  young  man  as  he  returned 
from  fastening  the  horses  and  was  about  to  enter  the 
schoolhouse,  and  pretended  to  point  his  pistol  at  him, 
discharging  it  immediately  into  the  air.  This  was  the 
signal  for  some  wild  firing  as  the  men  rode  on  past  the 
schoolhouse,  leaving  a  train  of  curses  behind  them  to 
haunt  the  air  and  struggle  with  the  "Glory  Song"  in  the 
memories  of  those  who  heard. 

The  girl  looked  out  from  her  seat  beside  the  window, 
and  saw  the  evil  face  of  the  man  from  whom  she  had  fled. 
She  thought  for  a  terrible  minute,  which  seemed  ages 
long  to  her,  that  she  was  cornered  now.  She  began  to 
look  about  on  the  people  there  helplessly,  and  wonder 
whether  they  would  save  her,  would  help  her,  in  her  time 
of  need.  Would  they  be  able  to  fight  and  prevail  against 
those  four  terrible  men  mad  with  liquor? 

Suppose  he  said  she  was  his  —  his  wife,  perhaps,  or 
sister,  who  had  run  away.  What  could  they  do?  Would 
they  believe  her?  Would  the  man  who  had  saved  her  life 
a  few  minutes  ago  believe  her?  Would  anybody  help 
her? 

The  party  passed,  and  the  man  came  in  and  sat  down 
beside  her  quietly  enough;  but  without  a  word  or  a  look 
he  knew  at  once  who  the  man  was  he  had  just  seen.  His 
soul  trembled  for  the  girl,  and  his  anger  rose  hot.  He 
felt  that  a  man  like  that  ought  to  be  wiped  off  the  face  of 
the  earth  in  some  way,  or  placed  in  solitary  confinement 
the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  looked  down  at  the  girl,  trembling,  brave,  white, 
beside  him;  and  he  felt  like  gathering  her  in  his  arms  and 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN  WILDERNESS       73 

hiding  her  himself,  such  a  frail,  brave,  courageous  little 
soul  she  seemed.  But  the  calm  nerve  with  which  she  had 
shot  the  serpent  was  gone  now.  He  saw  she  was  trem- 
bling and  ready  to  cry.  Then  he  smiled  upon  her,  a  smile 
the  like  of  which  he  had  never  given  to  human  being 
before;  at  least,  not  since  he  was  a  tiny  baby  and  smiled 
confidingly  into  his  mother's  face.  Something  in  that 
smile  was  like  sunshine  to  a  nervous  chill. 

The  girl  felt  the  comfort  of  it,  though  she  still  trembled. 
Down  her  eyes  drooped  to  the  paper  in  her  shaking 
hands.  Then  gradually,  letter  by  letter,  word  by  word, 
the  verse  spoke  to  her.  Not  all  the  meaning  she  gathered, 
for  *' pavilion"  and  "tabernacle''  were  unknown  words 
to  her,  but  the  hiding  she  could  understand.  She  had 
been  hidden  in  her  time  of  trouble.  Some  one  had  done 
it.  "He"  —  the  word  would  fit  the  man  by  her  side, 
for  he  had  helped  to  hide  her,  and  to  save  her  more  than 
once;  but  just  now  there  came  a  dim  perception  that  it 
was  some  other  He,  some  One  greater  who  had  worked 
this  miracle  and  saved  her  once  more  to  go  on  perhaps 
to  better  things. 

There  were  many  things  said  in  that  meeting,  good 
and  wise  and  true.  They  might  have  been  helpful  to  the 
girl  if  she  had  understood,  but  her  thoughts  had  much  to 
do.  One  grain  of  truth  she  had  gathered  for  her  future 
use.  There  was  a  " hiding"  somewhere  in  this  world,  and 
she  had  had  it  in  a  time  of  trouble.  One  moment  more 
out  upon  the  open,  and  the  terrible  man  might  have  seen 
her. 

There  came  a  time  of  prayer  in  which  all  heads  were 
bowed,  and  a  voice  here  and  there  murmured  a  few  soft 
little  words  which  she  did  not  comprehend;  but  at  the 
close  they  all  joined  in  "the  prayer";  and,  when  she 


74  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

heard  the  words,  "Our  Father,"  she  closed  her  eyes, 
which  had  been  curiously  open  and  watching,  and  joined 
her  voice  softly  with  the  rest.  Somehow  it  seemed  to 
connect  her  safety  with  "our  Father,"  and  she  felt  a 
stronger  faith  than  ever  in  her  prayer. 

The  young  man  listened  intently  to  all  he  heard. 
There  was  something  strangely  impressive  to  him  in  this 
simple  worship  out  in  what  to  him  was  a  vast  wilderness. 
He  felt  more  of  the  true  spirit  of  worship  than  he  had 
ever  felt  at  home  sitting  in  the  handsomely  upholstered 
pew  beside  his  mother  and  sister  while  the  choir-boys 
chanted  the  processional  and  the  light  filtered  through 
costly  windows  of  many  colors  over  the  large  and  cul- 
tivated congregation.  There  was  something  about  the 
words  of  these  people  that  went  straight  to  the  heart  more 
than  all  the  intonings  of  the  cultured  voices  he  had  ever 
heard.  Truly  they  meant  what  they  said',  and  God  had 
been  a  reality  to  them  in  many  a  time  of  trouble.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  theme  of  the  afternoon,  the  saving 
power  of  the  eternal  God,  made  perfect  through  the  need 
and  the  trust  of  His  people.  He  was  reminded  more  than 
once  of  the  incident  of  the  morning  and  the  miraculous- 
saving  of  his  own  and  his  companion's  life. 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  the  people  gathered  in 
groups  and  talked  with  one  another.  The  girl  who  had 
handed  the  book  came  over  and  spoke  to  the  strangers, 
putting  out  her  hand  pleasantly.  She  was  the  mission- 
ary's daughter. 

"What  is  this?     School?"  asked  the  stranger  eagerly. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  schoolhouse,"  said  the  missionary's 
daughter;  "but  this  meeting  is  Christian  Endeavor.  Do 
you  live  near  here?    Can't  you  come  every  time?" 

"No,  I  hve  a  long  way  off,"  said  the  girl  sadly.     "That 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN   WILDERNESS       75 

is,  I  did.  I  don't  live  anywhere  now.  I'm  going 
away." 

'^I  wish  you  lived  here.  Then  you  could  come  to  our 
meeting.  Did  you  have  a  Christian  Endeavor  where 
you  lived?" 

"No.     I  never  saw  one  before.     It's  nice.     I  like  it." 

Another  girl  came  up  now,  and  put  out  her  hand  in 
greeting.     ''You  must  come  again,"  she  said  politely. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  visitor.  ''I  sha'n't  be  coming 
back  soon." 

''Are  you  going  far?" 

*'As  far  as  I  can.     I'm  going  East." 

"0,"  said  the  inquisitor;  and  then,  seeing  the  mission- 
ary's daughter  was  talking  to  some  one  else,  she  whispered, 
nodding  toward  the  man,  "Is  he  your  husband?" 

The  girl  looked  startled,  while  a  slow  color  mounted 
into  her  cheeks. 

"No,"  said  she  gravely,  thoughtfully.  "But  —  he 
saved  my  life  a  little  while  ago." 

"Oh!"  said  the  other,  awestruck.  "My!  And  ain't 
he  handsome?     How  did  he  do  it?" 

But  the  girl  could  not  talk  about  it.     She  shuddered. 

"It  was  a  dreadful  snake,"  she  said,  "and  I  was  — 
I  didn't  see  it.     It  was  awful!     I  can't  tell  you  about  it." 

"My!"  said  the  girl.     "How  terrible!" 

The  people  were  passing  out  now.  The  man  was  talk- 
ing with  the  missionary,  asking  the  road  to  somewhere. 
The  girl  suddenly  realized  that  this  hour  of  preciousness 
was  over,  and  life  was  to  be  faced  again.  Those  men, 
those  terrible  men!  She  had  recognized  the  others  as 
having  been  among  her  brother's  funeral  train.  Where 
were  they,  and  why  had  they  gone  that  way?  Were  they 
on  her  track?    Had  they  any  clue  to  her  whereabouts? 


76  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

Would  they  turn  back  pretty  soon,  and  catch  her  when 
the  people  were  gone  home? 

It  appeared  that  the  nearest  town  was  Malta,  sixteen 
miles  away,  down  in  the  direction  where  the  party  of  men 
had  passed.  There  were  only  four  houses  near  the 
schoolhouse,  and  they  were  scattered  in  different  direc- 
tions along  the  stream  in  the  valley.  The  two  stood  still 
near  the  door  after  the  congregation  had  scattered.  The 
girl  suddenly  shivered.  As  she  looked  down  the  road, 
she  seemed  again  to  see  the  coarse  face  of  the  man  she 
feared,  and  to  hear  his  loud  laughter  and  oaths.  What 
if  he  should  come  back  again?  *'I  cannot  go  that  way!" 
she  said,  pointing  down  the  trail  toward  Malta.  "  I  would 
rather  die  with  wild  beasts." 

**No!"  said  the  man  with  decision.  ''On  no  account 
can  we  go  that  way.  Was  that  the  man  you  ran  away 
from?" 

**Yes."  She  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  filled  with 
wonder  over  the  way  in  which  he  had  coupled  his  lot 
with  hers. 

"Poor  little  girl!"  he  said  with  deep  feeling.  ''You 
would  be  better  off  with  the  beasts.  Come,  let  us  hurry 
away  from  here!" 

They  turned  sharply  away  from  the  trail,  and  followed 
down  behind  a  family  who  were  almost  out  of  sight 
around  the  hill.  There  would  be  a  chance  of  getting 
some  provisions,  the  man  thought.  The  girl  thought 
of  nothing  except  to  get  away.  They  rode  hard,  and 
soon  came  within  hailing-distance  of  the  people  ahead  of 
them,  and  asked  a  few  questions. 

No,  there  were  no  houses  to  the  north  until  you  were 
over  the  Canadian  line,  and  the  trail  was  hard  to  follow. 
Few  people  went  that  way.    Most  went  down  to  Malta. 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN  WILDERNESS      77 

Why  didn't  they  go  to  Malta?  There  was  a  road  there, 
and  stores.  It  was  by  all  means  the  best  way.  Yes, 
there  was  another  house  about  twenty  miles  away  on 
this  trail.  It  was  a  large  ranch,  and  was  near  to  another 
town  that  had  a  railroad.  The  people  seldom  came  this 
way,  as  there  were  other  places  more  accessible  to  them. 
The  trail  was  little  used,  and  might  be  hard  to  find  in 
some  places;  but,  if  they  kept  the  Cottonwood  Creek  in 
sight,  and  followed  on  to  the  end  of  the  valley,  and  then 
crossed  the  bench  to  the  right,  they  would  be  in  sight  of 
it,  and  couldn't  miss  it.  It  was  a  good  twenty  miles 
beyond  their  house;  but,  if  the  travellers  didn't  miss  the 
way,  they  might  reach  it  before  dark.  Yes,  the  people 
could  supply  a  few  provisions  at  their  house  if  the  strangers 
didn't  mind  taking  what  was  at  hand. 

The  man  in  the  wagon  tried  his  best  to  find  out  where 
the  two  were  going  and  what  they  were  going  for;  but  the 
man  from  the  East  baffled  his  curiosity  in  a  most  dex- 
terous manner,  so  that,  when  the  two  rode  away  from  the 
two-roomed  log  house  where  the  kind-hearted  people 
lived,  they  left  no  clue  to  their  identity  or  mission  beyond 
the  fact  that  they  were  going  quite  a  journey,  and  had 
got  a  little  off  their  trail  and  run  out  of  provisions. 

They  felt  comparatively  safe  from  pursuit  for  a  few 
hours  at  least,  for  the  men  could  scarcely  return  and  trace 
them  very  soon.  They  had  not  stopped  to  eat  anything; 
but  all  the  milk  they  could  drink  had  been  given  to  them, 
and  its  refreshing  strength  was  racing  through  their  veins. 
They  started  upon  their  long  ride  with  the  pleasure  of 
their  companionship  strong  upon  them. 

"  Whatwasit  all  about?  "asked  the  girl  as  they  settled  into 
a  steady  gait  after  a  long  gallop  across  a  smooth  level  place. 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly. 


78  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

"The  school.  What  did  it  mean?  She  said  it  was  a 
Christian  Endeavor.     What  is  that?" 

'*Why,  some  sort  of  a  religious  meeting,  or  something 
of  that  kind,  I  suppose,"  he  answered  lamely.  "Did  you 
enjoy  it?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  solemnly,  "I  liked  it.  I  never 
went  to  such  a  thing  before.  The  girl  said  they  had  one 
everywhere  all  over  the  world.  What  do  you  think  she 
meant?" 

"Why,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  unless  it's  some  Mad 
of  a  society.  But  it  looked  to  me  like  a  prayer  meeting. 
I've  heard  about  prayer  meetings,  but  I  never  went  to 
one,  though  I  never  supposed  they  were  so  interesting. 
That  was  a  remarkable  story  that  old  man  told  of  how  he 
was  taken  care  of  that  night  among  the  Indians.  He 
evidently  believes  that  prayer  helps  people." 

"Don't  you?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"O,  certainly!"  he  said,  "but  there  was  something  so 
genuine  about  the  way  the  old  man  told  it  that  it  made 
you  feel  it  in  a  new  way." 

"  It  is  all  new  to  me,"  said  the  girl.  "  But  mother  used 
to  go  to  Sunday  school  and  church  and  prayer  meeting. 
She's  often  told  me  about  it.  She  used  to  sing  sometimes. 
One  song  was  'Rock  of  Ages.'     Did  you  ever  hear  that? 

'  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee.'  " 
She  said  it  slowly  and  in  a  singsong  voice,  as  if  she  were 
measuring  the  words  off  to  imaginary  notes.  "  I  thought 
about  that  the  night  I  started.  I  wished  I  knew  where 
that  rock  was.  Is  there  a  rock  anywhere  that  they  call 
the  Rock  of  Ages?" 

The  young  man  was  visibly  embarrassed.  He  wanted 
to  laugh,  but  he  would  not  hurt  her  in  that  way  again. 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR    MEETING    IN   WILDERNESS       79 

He  was  not  accustomed  to  talking  religion;  yet  here  by 
this  strange  girl's  side  it  seemed  perfectly  natural  that  he, 
who  knew  so  very  little  experimentally  himself  about  it, 
should  be  trying  to  explain  the  Rock  of  Ages  to  a  soul  in 
need.  All  at  once  it  flashed  upon  him  that  it  was  for  just 
such  souls  in  need  as  this  one  that  the  Rock  of  Ages  came 
into  the  world. 

''I've  heard  the  song.  Yes,  I  think  they  sing  it  in  all 
churches.  It's  quite  common.  No,  there  isn't  any  place 
called  Rock  of  Ages.  It  refers  — that  is,  I  believe  —  why, 
you  see  the  thing  is  figurative  —  that  is,  a  kind  of  picture 
of  things.     It  refers  to  the  Deity." 

''0!     Who  is  that?"  asked  the  girl. 

''Why  —  God."  He  tried  to  say  it  as  if  he  had  been 
telling  her  it  was  Mr.  Smith  or  Mr.  Jones,  but  somehow 
the  sound  of  the  word  on  his  lips  thus  shocked  him.  He 
did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  "It  just  means  God  will 
take  care  of  people." 

"0!"  she  said,  and  this  time  a  light  of  understanding 
broke  over  her  face.  "But,"  she  added,  "I  wish  I  knew 
what  it  meant,  the  meeting,  and  why  they  did  it.  There 
must  be  some  reason.  They  wouldn't  do  it  for  nothing. 
And  how  do  they  know  it's  all  so?  Where  did  they  find 
it  out?" 

The  man  felt  he  was  beyond  his  depth;  so  he  sought 
to  change  the  subject.  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  about 
yourself,"  he  said  gently.  "I  should  like  to  understand 
you  better.  We  have  travelled  together  for  a  good  many 
hours  now,  and  we  ought  to  know  more  about  each  other." 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  She  asked  it  gravely. 
"There  isn't  much  to  tell  but  what  I've  told  you.  I've 
lived  on  a  mountain  all  my  life,  and  helped  mother.  The 
rest  all  died.     The  baby  first,  and  my  two  brothers,  and 


80  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

father,  and  mother,  and  then  John.  I  said  the  prayer 
for  John,  and  ran  away." 

**  Yes,  but  I  want  to  know  about  your  life.  You  know 
I  live  in  the  East  where  everything  is  different.  It's  all 
new  to  me  out  here.  I  want  to  know,  for  instance,  how 
you  came  to  talk  so  well.  You  don't  talk  like  a  girl  that 
never  went  to  school.  You  speak  as  if  you  had  read  and 
studied.  You  make  so  few  mistakes  in  your  English. 
You  speak  quite  correctly.  That  is  not  usual,  I  believe, 
when  people  have  lived  all  their  lives  away  from  school, 
you  know.  You  don't  talk  like  the  girls  I  have  met  since 
I  came  out  here." 

' 'Father  always  made  me  speak  right.  He  kept  at 
every  one  of  us  children  when  we  said  a  word  wrong,  and 
made  us  say  it  over  again.  It  made  him  angry  to  hear 
words  said  wrong.  He  made  mother  cry  once  when  she 
said  'done'  when  she  ought  to  have  said  'did.'  Father 
went  to  school  once,  but  mother  only  went  a  little  while. 
Father  knew  a  great  deal,  and  when  he  was  sober  he  used 
to  teach  us  things  once  in  a  while.  He  taught  me  to  read. 
I  can  read  anything  I  ever  saw." 

"Did  you  have  many  books  and  magazines?"  he  asked 
innocently. 

"We  had  three  books!"  she  answered  proudly,  as  if  that 
were  a  great  many.  "One  was  a  grammar.  Father 
bought  it  for  mother  before  they  were  married,  and  she 
always  kept  it  wrapped  up  in  paper  carefully.  She  used 
to  get  it  out  for  me  to  read  in  sometimes;  but  she  was  very 
careful  with  it,  and  when  she  died  I  put  it  in  her  hands. 
I  thought  she  would  like  to  have  it  close  to  her,  because 
it  always  seemed  so  much  to  her.  You  see  father  bought 
it.  Then  there  was  an  almanac,  and  a  book  about  stones 
and  earth.    A  man  who  was  hunting  for  gold  left  that. 


CHRISTIAN   ENDEAVOR   MEETING   IN   WILDERNESS      81 

He  stopped  over  night  at  our  house,  and  asked  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  He  hadn't  any  money  to  pay  for  it;  so  he 
left  that  book  with  us,  and  said  when  he  found  the  gold 
he  would  come  and  buy  it  back  again.  But  he  never 
came  back." 

"Is  that  all  that  you  have  ever  read?"  he  asked  com- 
passionately. 

"O,  no!  We  got  papers  sometimes.  Father  would 
come  home  with  a  whole  paper  wrapped  around  some 
bundle.  Once  there  was  a  beautiful  story  about  a  girl; 
but  the  paper  was  torn  in  the  middle,  and  I  never  knew 
how  it  came  out." 

There  was  great  wistfulness  in  her  voice.  It  seemed  to 
be  one  of  the  regrets  of  her  girlhood  that  she  did  not 
know  how  that  other  girl  in  the  story  fared.  All  at  once 
she  turned  to  him. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  your  life,"  she  said.  *'  I'm  sure  you 
have  a  great  deal  to  tell." 

His  face  darkened  in  a  way  that  made  her  sorry. 

"O,  well,"  said  he  as  if  it  mattered  very  little  about  his 
life,  "I  had  a  nice  home  —  have  yet,  for  the  matter  of 
that.  Father  died  when  I  was  little,  and  mother  let  me 
do  just  about  as  I  pleased.  I  went  to  school  because  the 
other  fellows  did,  and  because  that  was  the  thing  to  do. 
After  I  grew  up  I  liked  it.  That  is,  I  liked  some  studies; 
so  I  went  to  a  university." 

''What  is  that?" 

''O,  just  a  higher  school  where  you  learn  grown-up 
things.  Then  I  travelled.  When  I  came  home,  I  went 
into  society  a  good  deal.  But"  —  and  his  face  darkened 
again  —  ''I  got  tired  of  it  all,  and  thought  I  would  come 
out  here  for  a  while  and  hunt,  and  I  got  lost,  and  I  found 
you!"  He  smiled  into  her  face.  ''Now  you  know  the  rest." 


82  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

Something  passed  between  them  in  that  smile  and 
glance,  a  flash  of  the  recognition  of  souls,  and  a  gladness 
in  each  other's  company,  that  made  the  heart  warm. 
They  said  no  more  for  some  time,  but  rode  quietly  side 
by  side. 

They  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  valley,  and  were 
crossing  the  bench.  The  distant  ranch  could  quite  dis- 
tinctly be  seen.  The  silver  moon  had  come  up,  for  they 
had  not  been  hurrying,  and  a  great  beauty  pervaded 
everything.  They  almost  shrank  from  approaching  the 
buildings  and  people.  They  had  enjoyed  the  ride  and 
the  companionship.  Every  step  brought  them  nearer 
to  what  they  had  known  all  the  time  was  an  indistinct 
future  from  which  they  had  been  joyously  shut  away 
for  a  little  time  till  they  might  know  each  other. 


CHAPTER  VII 


BAD   NEWS 


They  found  rest  for  the  night  at  the  ranch  house. 
The  place  was  wide  and  hospitable.  The  girl  looked 
about  her  with  wonder  on  the  comfortable  arrangements 
for  work.  If  only  her  mother  had  had  such  a  kitchen  to 
work  in,  and  such  a  pleasant,  happy  home,  she  might 
have  been  living  yet.  There  was  a  pleasant-faced,  sweet- 
voiced  woman  with  gray  hair  whom  the  men  called 
^' mother.'^  She  gave  the  girl  a  kindly  welcome,  and 
made  her  sit  down  to  a  nice  warm  supper,  and, 
when  it  was  over,  led  her  to  a  little  room  where 
her  own  bed  was,  and  told  her  she  might  sleep  with 
her.  The  girl  lay  down  in  a  maze  of  wonder,  but  was 
too  weary  with  the  long  ride  to  keep  awake  and  think 
about  it. 

They  slept,  the  two  travellers,  a  sound  and  dreamless 
sleep,  wherein  seemed  peace  and  moonlight,  and  a  for- 
getting of  sorrows. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  girl  awoke.  The  woman 
by  her  side  was  already  stirring.  There  was  breakfast 
to  get  for  the  men.  The  woman  asked  her  a  few  ques- 
tions about  her  journey. 

''He's  your  brother,  ain't  he,  dearie?"  asked  the 
woman  as  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

''No,"  said  the  girl. 

"O,"  said  the  woman,  puzzled,  "then  you  and  he's 
goin'  to  be  married  in  the  town." 

83 


84  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

"O,  no!**  said  the  girl  with  scarlet  cheeks,  thinking  of 
the  lady  in  the  automobile. 

**  Not  goin'  to  be  married,  dearie?  Now  that's  too  bad. 
Ain't  he  any  kind  of  relation  to  you?  Not  an  uncle  nor 
cousin  nor  nothin'?" 

"No." 

*'Then  how  he's  you  travellin'  lone  with  him?  It 
don't  seem  just  right.  You's  a  sweet,  good  girl;  an'  he's 
a  fine  man.  But  harm's  come  to  more'n  one.  Where'd 
you  take  up  with  each  other?  Be  he  a  neighbor?  He 
looks  Hke  a  man  from  way  off,  not  hereabouts.  You  sure 
he  ain't  deceivin'  you,  dearie?" 

The  girl  flashed  her  eyes  in  answer. 

*'Yes,  I'm  sure.  He's  a  good  man.  He  prays  to  our 
Father.  No,  he's  not  a  neighbor,  nor  an  uncle,  nor  a 
cousin.  He's  just  a  man  that  got  lost.  We  were  both 
lost  on  the  prairie  in  the  night;  and  he's  from  the  East, 
and  got  lost  from  his  party  of  hunters.  He  had  nothing  to 
eat,  but  I  had;  so  I  gave  him  some.  Then  he  saved  my 
life  when  a  snake  almost  stung  me.  He's  been  good  to 
me." 

The  woman  looked  relieved. 

"And  where  you  goin',  dearie,  all  'lone?  What  your 
folks  thinkin'  'bout  to  let  you  go  'lone  this  way?" 

"They're  dead,"  said  the  girl  with  great  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"Dearie  me!  And  you  so  young!  Say,  dearie,  s 'pose 
you  stay  here  with  me.  I'm  lonesome,  an'  there's  no 
women  near  by  here.  You  could  help  me  and  be  comp'ny. 
The  men  would  like  to  have  a  girl  round.  There's  plenty 
likely  men  on  this  ranch  could  make  a  good  home  fer  a 
girl  sometime.     Stay  here  with  me,  dearie." 

Had  this  refuge  been  offered  the  girl  during  her  first 


BAD   NEWS  85 

night  in  the  wilderness,  with  what  joy  and  thankfulness 
she  would  have  accepted!  Now  it  suddenly  seemed  a 
great  impossibility  for  her  to  stay.  She  must  go  on. 
She  had  a  pleasant  ride  before  her,  and  delightful  com- 
panionship; and  she  was  going  to  school.  The  world 
was  wide,  and  she  had  entered  it.  She  had  no  mind  to 
pause  thus  on  the  threshold,  and  never  see  further  than 
Montana.  Moreover,  the  closing  words  of  the  woman 
did  not  please  her. 

"I  cannot  stay,"  she  said  decidedly.  "I'm  going  to 
school.  And  I  do  not  want  a  man.  I  have  just  run  away 
from  a  man,  a  dreadful  one.  I  am  going  to  school  in  the 
East.  I  have  some  relations  there,  and  perhaps  I  can 
find  them." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  said  the  woman,  looking  dis- 
appointed. She  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  sweet 
young  face.  "Well,  dearie,  why  not  stay  here  a  little 
while,  and  write  to  your  folks,  and  then  go  on  with  some 
one  who  is  going  your  way?  I  don't  like  to  see  you  go 
off  with  that  man.  It  ain't  the  proper  thing.  He  knows 
it  himself.  I'm  afraid  he's  deceivin'  you.  I  can  see  by 
his  clo'es  he's  one  of  the  fine  young  fellows  that  does  as 
they  please.  He  won't  think  any  good  of  you  if  you  keep 
travellin'  'lone  with  him.  It's  all  well  'nough  when  you  get 
lost,  an'  he  was  nice  to  help  you  out  and  save  you  from 
snakes;  but  he  knows  he  ain't  no  business  travellin'  'lone 
with  you,  you  pretty  little  creature!" 

"You  must  not  talk  so!"  said  the  girl,  rising  and  flash- 
ing her  eyes  again.  "He's  a  good  man.  He's  what  my 
brother  called  'a  white  man  all  through.'  Besides,  he's 
got  a  lady,  a  beautiful  lady,  in  the  East.  She  rides  in 
some  kind  of  a  grand  carriage  that  goes  of  itself,  and  he 
thinks  a  great  deal  of  her." 


86  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

The  woman  looked  as  if  she  were  but  half  convinced. 

"It  may  seem  all  right  to  you,  dearie/'  she  said  sadly; 
"but  I'm  old;  and  I've  seen  things  happen.  You'd  find 
his  fine  lady  wouldn't  go  jantin'  round  the  world  'lone 
with  him  unless  she's  married.  I've  Uved  East,  and  I 
know;  and  what's  more,  he  knows  it  too.  He  may  mean 
all  right,  but  you  never  can  trust  folks." 

The  woman  went  away  to  prepare  breakfast  then,  and 
left  the  girl  feeling  as  if  the  whole  world  was  against  her, 
trying  to  hold  her.  She  was  glad  when  the  man  suggested 
that  they  hurry  their  breakfast  and  get  away  as  quickly 
as  possible.  She  did  not  smile  when  the  old  woman  came 
out  to  bid  her  good-by,  and  put  a  detaining  hand  on  the 
horse's  bridle,  saying,  "You  better  stay  with  me,  after 
all,  hadn't  you,  dearie?" 

The  man  looked  inquiringly  at  the  two  women,  and  saw 
like  a  flash  the  suspicion  of  the  older  woman,  read  the 
trust  and  haughty  anger  in  the  beautiful  younger  face, 
and  then  smiled  down  on  the  old  woman  whose  kindly 
hospitality  had  saved  them  for  a  while  from  the  terrors 
of  the  open  night,  and  said: 

"Don't  you  worry  about  her,  auntie.  I'm  going  to 
take  good  care  of  her,  and  perhaps  she'll  write  you  a 
letter  some  day,  and  tell  you  where  she  is  and  what  she's 
doing." 

Half  reassured,  the  old  woman  gave  him  her  name  and 
address;  and  he  wrote  them  down  in  a  little  red  note- 
book. 

When  they  were  well  started  on  their  way,  the  man 
explained  that  he  had  hurried  because  from  conversation 
with  the  men  he  had  learned  that  this  ranch  where  they 
had  spent  the  night  was  on  the  direct  trail  from  Malta  to 
another   small   town.     It   might   be   that   the   pursuers 


BAD   NEWS  87 

would  go  further  than  Malta.  Did  she  think  they  would 
go  so  far?  They  must  have  come  almost  a  hundred  miles 
already.     Would  they  not  be  discouraged? 

But  the  girl  looked  surprised.  A  hundred  miles  on 
horseback  was  not  far.  Her  brother  often  used  to  ride 
a  hundred  miles  just  to  see  a  fight  or  have  a  good  time. 
She  felt  sure  the  men  would  not  hesitate  to  follow  a  long 
distance  if  something  else  did  not  turn  them  aside. 

The  man's  face  looked  sternly  out  from  under  his  wide 
hat.  He  felt  a  great  responsibility  for  the  girl  since  he 
had  seen  the  face  of  the  man  who  was  pursuing  her. 

Their  horses  were  fresh,  and  the  day  was  fine.  They 
rode  hard  as  long  as  the  road  was  smooth,  and  did  little 
talking.  The  girl  was  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  words 
the  woman  had  spoken  to  her.  But  the  thing  that  stuck 
there  and  troubled  her  was,  ''And  he  knows  it  is  so." 

Was  she  doing  something  for  which  this  man  by  her 
side  would  not  respect  her?  Was  she  overstepping  some 
unwritten  law  of  which  she  had  never  heard,  and  did  he 
know  it,  and  yet  encourage  her  in  it? 

That  she  need  fear  him  in  the  least  she  would  not  believe. 
Had  she  not  watched  the  look  of  utmost  respect  on  his 
face  as  he  stood  quietly  waiting  for  her  to  awake  the  first 
morning  they  had  met?  Had  he  not  had  opportunity 
again  and  again  to  show  her  dishonor  by  word  or  look? 
Yet  he  had  never  been  anything  but  gentle  and  courteous 
to  her.  She  did  not  call  things  by  these  names,  but  she 
felt  the  gentleman  in  him. 

Besides,  there  was  the  lady.  He  had  told  about  her 
at  the  beginning.  He  evidently  honored  the  lady.  The 
woman  had  said  that  the  lady  would  not  ride  with  him 
alone.  Was  it  true?  Would  he  not  like  to  have  the 
lady  ride  alone  with  him  when  she  was  not  his  relative  in 


88  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

any  way?  Then  was  there  a  difference  between  his 
thought  of  the  lady  and  of  herseK?  Of  course,  there  was 
some;  he  loved  the  lady,  but  he  should  not  think  less 
/'honortibly  of  her  than  of  any  lady  in  the  land. 
V  She  jSat  straight  and  proudly  in  her  man's  saddle,  and 
tried  to  make  him  feel  that  she  was  worthy  of  respect. 
She  had  tried  to  show  him  this  when  she  had  shot  the 
bird.  Now  she  recognized  that  there  was  a  fine  some- 
thing, higher  than  shooting  or  prowess  of  any  kind, 
which  would  command  respect.  It  was  something  she 
felt  belonged  to  her,  yet  she  was  not  sure  she  commanded 
it.     What  did  she  lack,  and  how  could  she  secure  it? 

He  watched  her  quiet,  thoughtful  face,  and  the  lady  of 
his  former  troubled  thoughts  was  as  utterly  forgotten 
by  him  as  if  she  had  never  existed.  He  was  unconsciously 
absorbed  in  the  study  of  eye  and  lip  and  brow.  His  eyes 
were  growing  accustomed  to  the  form  and  feature  of 
this  girl  beside  him,  and  he  took  pleasure  in  watching 
her. 

They  stopped  for  lunch  in  a  coulee  under  a  pretty 
cluster  of  cedar-trees  a  little  back  from  the  trail,  where 
they  might  look  over  the  way  they  had  come  and  be 
warned  against  pursuers.  About  three  o'clock  they 
reached  a  town.  Here  the  railroad  came  directly  from 
Malta,  but  there  was  but  one  train  a  day  each  way. 

The  man  went  to  the  public  stopping-place  and  asked 
for  a  room,  and  boldly  demanded  a  private  place  for  his 
*'sister"  to  rest  for  a  while.  ''She  is  my  little  sister,"  he 
told  himself  in  excuse  for  the  word.  ''She  is  my  sister 
to  care  for.  That  is,  if  she  were  my  sister,  this  is  what  I 
should  want  some  good  man  to  do  for  her." 

He  smiled  as  he  went  on  his  way  after  leaving  the  girl 
to  rest.    The  thought  of  a  sister  pleased  him.    The  old 


BAD   NEWS  89 

woman  at  the  ranch  had  made  him  careful  for  the  girl 
who  was  thus  thrown  in  his  company. 

He  rode  down  through  the  rough  town  to  the  railway 
station,  but  a  short  distance  from  the  rude  stopping-place; 
and  there  he  made  inquiries  concerning  roads,  towns, 
etc.,  in  the  neighboring  locality,  and  sent  a  telegram  to 
the  friends  with  whom  he  had  been  hunting  when  he  got 
lost.  He  said  he  would  be  at  the  next  town  about  twenty 
miles  away.  He  knew  that  by  this  time  they  would  be 
back  home  and  anxious  about  him,  if  they  were  not 
already  sending  out  searching  parties  for  him.  His 
message  read: 

''Hit  the  trail  all  right.  Am  taking  a  trip  for  my 
health.     Send  mail  to  me  at " 

Then  after  careful  inquiry  as  to  directions,  and  learning 
that  there  was  more  than  one  route  to  the  town  he  had 
mentioned  in  his  telegram,  he  went  back  to  his  companion. 
She  was  ready  to  go,  for  the  presence  of  other  people 
about  her  made  her  uneasy.  She  feared  again  there 
would  be  objection  to  their  further  progress  together. 
Somehow  the  old  woman's  words  had  grown  into  a  shadow 
which  hovered  over  her.  She  mounted  her  horse  gladly, 
and  they  went  forward.  He  told  her  what  he  had  just 
done,  and  how  he  expected  to  get  his  mail  the  next  morn- 
ing when  they  reached  the  next  town.  He  explained 
that  there  was  a  ranch  half-way  there  where  they  might 
stop  all  night. 

She  was  troubled  at  the  thought  of  another  ranch. 
She  knew  there  would  be  more  questions,  and  perhaps 
other  disagreeable  words  said;  but  she  held  her  peace, 
listening  to  his  plans.  Her  wonder  was  great  over  the 
telegram.  She  knew  little  or  nothing  about  modern 
discoveries.     It   was  a  mystery   to   her   how   he   could 


90         '  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

receive  word  by  morning  from  a  place  that  it  had  taken 
them  nearly  two  days  to  leave  behind,  and  how  had  he 
sent  a  message  over  a  wire?  Yes,  she  had  heard  of  tele- 
grams, but  had  never  been  quite  sure  they  were  true. 
When  he  saw  that  she  was  interested,  he  went  on  to  tell 
her  of  other  wonderful  triumphs  of  science,  the  telephone, 
the  electric  light,  gas,  and  the  modern  system  of  water- 
works. She  listened  as  if  it  were  all  a  fairy  tale.  Some- 
times she  looked  at  him,  and  wondered  whether  it  could 
be  true,  or  whether  he  were  not  making  fun  of  her;  but 
his  earnest,  honest  eyes  forbade  doubt. 

At  the  ranch  they  found  two  women,  a  mother  and 
her  daughter.  The  man  asked  frankly  whether  they  could 
take  care  of  this  young  friend  of  his  overnight,  saying 
that  she  was  going  on  to  the  town  in  the  morning,  and  was 
in  his  care  for  the  journey.  This  seemed  to  relieve  all 
suspicion.  The  two  girls  eyed  each  other,  and  then 
smiled. 

''I'm  Myrtle  Baker,"  said  the  ranch-owner's  daughter. 
''Come;  I'll  take  you  where  you  can  wash  your  hands 
and  face,  and  then  we'll  have  some  supper." 

Myrtle  Baker  was  a  chatterer  by  nature.  She  talked 
incessantly;  and,  though  she  asked  many  questions,  she 
did  not  wait  for  half  of  them  to  be  answered.  Besides, 
the  traveller  had  grown  wary.  She  did  not  intend  to  talk 
about  the  relationship  between  herself  and  her  travelling 
companion.  There  was  a  charm  in  Myrtle's  company 
which  made  the  girl  half  regret  leaving  the  next  morning, 
as  they  did  quite  early,  amid  protests  from  Myrtle  and 
her  mother,  who  enjoyed  a  visitor  in  their  isolated 
home. 

But  the  ride  that  morning  was  constrained.  Each  felt 
in  some  subtle  way  that  their  pleasant  companionship 


BAD    NEWS  91 

was  coming  to  a  crisis.  Ahead  in  that  town  would  be 
letters,  communications  from  the  outside  world  of  friends, 
people  who  did  not  know  or  care  what  these  two  had  been 
through  together,  and  who  would  not  hesitate  to  separate 
them  with  a  firm  hand.  Neither  put  this  thought  into 
words,  but  it  was  there  in  their  hearts,  in  the  form  of  a 
vague  fear.  They  talked  very  little,  but  each  was  feeling 
how  pleasant  the  journey  had  been,  and  dreading  what 
might  be  before. 

They  wanted  to  stay  in  this  Utopia  of  the  plains,  for- 
ever journeying  together,  and  never  reaching  any  trouble- 
some futures  where  were  laws  and  opinions  by  which 
they  must  abide. 

But  the  morning  grew  bright,  and  the  road  was  not 
half  long  enough.  Though  at  the  last  they  walked  their 
horses,  they  reached  the  town  before  the  daily  train  had 
passed  through.  They  went  straight  to  the  station,  and 
found  that  the  train  was  an  hour  late;  but  a  telegram  had 
arrived  for  the  man.  He  took  it  nervously,  his  fingers 
trembling.  He  felt  a  premonition  that  it  contained 
something  unpleasant. 

The  girl  sat  on  her  horse  by  the  platform,  watching 
him  through  the  open  station  door  where  he  was  standing 
as  he  tore  open  the  envelope.  She  saw  a  deathly  pallor 
overspread  his  face,  and  a  look  of  anguish  as  if  an  arrow 
had  pierced  his  heart.  She  felt  as  if  the  arrow  had  gone 
on  into  her  own  heart,  and  then  she  sat  and  waited.  It 
seemed  hours  before  he  glanced  up,  with  an  old,  weary 
look  in  his  eyes.     The  message  read: 

"  Your  mother  seriously  ill.  Wants  you  immediately. 
Will  send  your  baggage  on  morning  train.  Have  wired 
you  are  coming. '^ 

It  was  signed  by  his  cousin  with  whom  he  had  been 


92  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

taking  his  hunting-trip,  and  who  was  bound  by  business 
to  go  further  West  within  a  few  days  more. 

The  strong  young  man  was  almost  bowed  under  this 
sudden  stroke.  His  mother  was  very  dear  to  him.  He 
had  left  her  well  and  happy.  He  must  go  to  her  at  once, 
of  course;  but  what  should  he  do  with  the  girl  who  had 
within  the  last  two  days  taken  so  strong  a  hold  upon  his 
—  he  hesitated,  and  called  it  ''protection."  That  word 
would  do  in  the  present  emergency. 

Then  he  looked,  and  saw  her  own  face  pale  under  the 
tan,  and  stepped  out  to  the  platform  to  tell  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE    PARTING 


She  took  the  news  like  a  Spartan.  Her  gentle  pity 
was  simply  expressed,  and  then  she  held  her  peace.  He 
must  go.  He  must  leave  her.  She  knew  that  the  train 
would  carry  him  to  his  mother's  bedside  quicker  than  a 
horse  could  go.  She  felt  by  the  look  in  his  eyes  and  the 
set  of  his  mouth  that  he  had  already  decided  that.  Of 
course  he  must  go.  And  the  lady  was  there  too!  His 
mother  and  the  lady!  The  lady  would  be  sorry  by  this 
time,  and  would  love  him.  Well,  it  was  all  right.  He 
had  been  good  to  her.  He  had  been  a  strong,  bright 
angel  God  had  sent  to  help  her  out  of  the  wilderness ;  and 
now  that  she  was  safe  the  angel  must  return  to  his  heaven. 
This  was  what  she  thought. 

He  had  gone  into  the  station  to  inquire  about  the 
train.  It  was  an  hour  late.  He  had  one  short  hour  in 
which  to  do  a  great  deal.  He  had  very  little  money  with 
him.  Naturally  men  do  not  carry  a  fortune  when  they 
go  out  into  the  wilderness  for  a  day's  shooting.  For- 
tunately he  had  his  railroad  return  ticket  to  Philadelphia. 
That  would  carry  him  safely.  But  the  girl.  She  of 
course  had  no  money.  And  where  was  she  going?  He 
reaUzed  that  he  had  failed  to  ask  her  many  important 
questions.     He  hiuried  out,  and  explained  to  her. 

"The  train  is  an  hour  late.  We  must  sell  our  horses, 
and  try  to  get  money  enough  to  take  us  East.  It  is  the 
only  way.     Where  do  you  intend  going?" 

93 


94  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

But  the  girl  stiffened  in  her  seat.  She  knew  it  was  her 
opportunity  to  show  that  she  was  worthy  of  his  honor 
and  respect. 

"I  cannot  go  with  you,"  she  said  very  quietly. 

"But  you  must/'  said  he  impatiently.  ''Don't  you 
see  there  is  no  other  way?  I  must  take  this  train  and  get 
to  my  mother  as  soon  as  possible.  She  may  not  be  living 
when  I  reach  her  if  I  don't."  Something  caught  in  his 
throat  as  he  uttered  the  horrible  thought  that  kept  com- 
ing to  his  mind. 

"1  know,"  said  the  girl  quietly.  ''You  must  go,  but 
I  must  ride  on." 

"And  why?  I  should  like  to  know.  Don't  you  see 
that  I  cannot  leave  you  here  alone?  Those  villains  may 
be  upon  us  at  any  minute.  In  fact,  it  is  a  good  thing  for 
us  to  board  the  train  and  get  out  of  their  miserable  coun- 
try as  fast  as  steam  can  carry  us.  I  am  sorry  you  must 
part  with  your  horse,  for  I  know  you  are  attached  to  it; 
but  perhaps  we  can  arrange  to  sell  it  to  some  one  who 
will  let  us  redeem  it  when  we  send  the  money  out.  You 
see  I  have  not  money  enough  with  me  to  buy  you  a 
ticket.  I  couldn't  get  home  myself  if  I  hadn't  my  return 
ticket  with  me  in  my  pocket.  But  surely  the  sale  of  both 
horses  will  bring  enough  to  pay  your  way." 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  I  must  not  go."  The  red  Hps 
were  firm,  and  the  girl  was  sitting  very  erect.  She  looked 
as  she  had  done  after  she  had  shot  the  bird. 

"But  why?" 

"I  cannot  travel  alone  with  you.  It  is  not  your  custom 
where  you  come  from.  The  woman  on  the  ranch  told  me. 
She  said  you  knew  girls  did  not  do  that,  and  that  you 
did  not  respect  me  for  going  alone  with  you.  She  said  it 
was  not  right,  and  that  you  knew  it." 


THE   PARTING  95 

He  looked  at  her  impatient,  angry,  half  ashamed  that 
she  should  face  him  with  these  words. 

''Nonsense!"  said  he.  ''This  is  a  case  of  necessity. 
You  are  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  I  am  the  one  to  do  it." 

"But  it  is  not  the  custom  among  people  where  you 
live,  is  it?" 

The  clear  eyes  faced  him  down,  and  he  had  to  admit 
that  it  was  not. 

"Then  I  can't  go,"  she  said  decidedly. 

"But  you  must.     If  you  don't,  I  won't  go." 

"But  you  must,"  said  the  girl,  "and  I  mustn't.  If  you 
talk  that  way,  I'll  run  away  from  you.  I've  run  away 
from  one  man,  and  I  guess  I  can  from  another.  Besides, 
you're  forgetting  the  lady." 

"What  lady?" 

"Your  lady.  The  lady  who  rides  in  a  carriage  without 
horses." 

"Hang  the  lady!"  he  said  inelegantly.  "Do  you  know 
that  the  train  will  be  along  here  in  less  than  an  hour,  and 
we  have  a  great  deal  to  do  before  we  can  get  on  board? 
There's  no  use  stopping  to  talk  about  this  matter.  We 
haven't  time.  If  you  will  just  trust  things  to  me,  I'll 
attend  to  them  all,  and  I'll  answer  your  questions  when 
we  get  safely  on  the  train.  Every  instant  is  precious. 
Those  men  might  come  around  that  corner  over  there 
any  minute.  That's  all  bosh  about  respect.  I  respect 
you  more  than  any  woman  I  ever  met.  And  it's  my 
business  to  take  care  of  you." 

"No,  it's  not  your  business,"  said  the  girl  bravely, 
"and  I  can't  let  you.     I'm  nothing  to  you,  you  know." 

"You're  every  —  that  is  —  why,  you  surely  know 
you're  a  great  deal  to  me.  Why,  you  saved  my  life,  you 
know!" 


96  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

''Yes,  and  you  saved  mine.  That  was  beautiful,  but 
that's  all." 

"Isn't  that  enough?  What  are  you  made  of,  anyway, 
to  sit  there  when  there's  so  much  to  be  done,  and  those 
villains  on  our  track,  and  insist  that  you  won't  be  saved? 
Respect  you!  Why,  a  lion  in  the  wilderness  would  have 
to  respect  you.  You're  made  of  iron  and  steel  and  pre- 
cious stones.  You've  the  courage  of  a — a  —  I  was  going 
to  say  a  man,  but  I  mean  an  angel.  You're  pure  as  snow, 
and  true  as  the  heavenly  blue,  and  firm  as  a  rock;  and, 
if  I  had  never  respected  you  before,  I  would  have  to  now. 
I  respect,  I  honor,  I  —  I  —  I  —  pray  for  you!"  he 
finished  fiercely. 

He  turned  his  back  to  hide  his  emotion. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  when  he  turned  again,  and  her 
own  were  full  of  tears. 

''Thank  you!"  She  said  it  very  simply.  "That 
makes  me  —  very  —  glad!     But  I  cannot  go  with  you." 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  he  asked  her  desperately. 

"Yes,"  steadily. 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  stay  too." 

"But  you  can't!  You  must  go  to  your  mother.  1 
won't  be  stayed  with.  And  what  would  she  think? 
Mothers  are  —  everything!"  she  finished.  "You  must 
go  quick  and  get  ready.     What  can  I  do  to  help?" 

He  gave  her  a  look  which  she  remembered  long  years 
afterward.  It  seemed  to  burn  and  sear  its  way  into  her 
soul.  How  was  it  that  a  stranger  had  the  power  to  scorch 
her  with  anguish  this  way?     And  she  him? 

He  turned,  still  with  that  desperate,  half-frantic  look 
in  his  face,  and  accosted  two  men  who  stood  at  the  other 
end  of  the  platform.  They  were  not  in  particular  need 
of  a  horse  at  present;  but  they  were  always  ready  to  look 


THE    PARTING  97 

at  a  bargain,  and  they  walked  speculatively  down  the 
uneven  boards  of  the  platform  with  him  to  where  his 
horse  stood,  and  inspected  it. 

The  girl  watched  the  whole  proceeding  with  eyes  that 
saw  not  but  into  the  future.  She  put  in  a  word  about  the 
worth  of  the  saddle  once  when  she  saw  it  was  going  lower 
than  it  should.  Three  other  men  gathered  about  before 
the  bargain  was  concluded,  and  the  horse  and  its  equip- 
ments sold  for  about  half  its  value. 

That  done,  the  man  turned  toward  the  girl  and  mo- 
tioned to  her  to  lead  her  borse  away  to  a  more  quiet 
place,  and  set  him  down  to  plead  steadily  against  her 
decision.  But  the  talk  and  the  horse-selling  had  taken 
more  time  than  he  realized.  The  girl  was  more  decided 
than  ever  in  her  determination  not  to  go  with  him.  She 
spoke  of  the  lady  again.  She  spoke  of  his  mother,  and 
mothers  in  general,  and  finished  by  reminding  him  that 
God  would  take  care  of  her,  and  of  him,  too. 

Then  they  heard  the  whistle  of  the  train,  and  saw  it 
growing  from  a  speck  to  a  large  black  object  across  the 
plain.  To  the  girl  the  sight  of  this  strange  machine,  that 
seemed  more  like  a  creature  rushing  toward  her  to  snatch 
all  beauty  and  hope  and  safety  from  her,  sent  a  thrill  of 
horror.  To  the  man  it  seemed  like  a  dreaded  fate  that 
was  tearing  him  asunder.  He  had  barely  time  to  divest 
himself  of  his  powder-horn,  and  a  few  little  things  that 
might  be  helpful  to  the  girl  in  her  journey,  before  the 
train  was  halting  at  the  station.  Then  he  took  from  his 
pocket  the  money  that  had  been  paid  him  for  his  horse; 
and,  selecting  a  five-dollar  bill  for  himself,  he  wrapped  the 
rest  in  an  envelope  bearing  his  own  name  and  address. 
The  envelope  was  one  addressed  by  the  lady  at  home. 
It  had  contained  some  gracefully  worded  refusal  of  a  re- 


98  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

quest.     But  he  did  not  notice  now  what  envelope  he 
gave  her. 

''Take  this/'  he  said.  "It  will  help  a  little.  Yes,  you 
must!  I  cannot  leave  you  —  I  will  not  —  unless  you  do/' 
when  he  saw  that  she  hesitated  and  looked  doubtful.  "I 
owe  you  all  and  more  for  saving  my  life.  I  can  never  re- 
pay you.  Take  it.  You  may  return  it  sometime  when 
you  get  plenty  more  of  your  own,  if  it  hurts  your  pride  to 
keep  it.  Take  it,  please.  Yes,  I  have  plenty  for  myself. 
You  will  need  it,  and  you  must  stop  at  nice  places  over- 
night. You  will  be  very  careful,  won't  you?  My  name 
is  on  that  envelope.  You  must  write  to  me  and  let  me 
know  that  you  are  safe." 

''Some  one  is  calling  you,  and  that  thing  is  beginning  to. 
move  again,"  said  the  girl,  an  awesome  wonder  in  her 
face.  "You  will  be  left  behind!  O,  hurry!  Quick! 
Your  mother!" 

He  half  turned  toward  the  train,  and  then  came  back. 

"You  haven't  told  me  your  name!"  he  gasped.  "Tell 
me  quick!" 

She  caught  her  breath. 

"Elizabeth!"  she  answered,  and  waved  him  from  her. 

The  conductor  of  the  train  was  shouting  to  him,  and 
two  men  shoved  him  toward  the  platform.  He  swung 
himself  aboard  with  the  accustomed  ease  of  a  man  who 
has  travelled;  but  he  stood  on  the  platform,  and  shouted, 
"Where  are  you  going?"  as  the  train  swung  noisily  off. 

She  did  not  hear  him,  but  waved  her  hand,  and  gave 
him  a  bright  smile  that  was  brimming  with  unshed  tears. 
It  seemed  like  instant,  daring  suicide  in  him  to  stand  on 
that  swaying,  clattering  house  as  it  moved  off  irrespon- 
sibly down  the  plane  of  vision.  She  watched  him  till 
he  was  out  of  sight,  a  mere  speck  on  the  horizon  of  the 


THE   PARTING  99 

prairie;  and  then  she  turned  her  horse  slowly  into  the 
road,  and  went  her  way  into  the  world  alone. 

The  man  stood  on  the  platform,  and  watched  her  as  he 
whirled  away  —  a  little  brown  girl  on  a  little  brown  horse, 
so  stanch  and  firm  and  stubborn  and  good.  Her  eyes 
were  dear,  and  her  lips  as  she  smiled;  and  her  hand  was 
beautiful  as  it  waved  him  good-by.  She  was  dear,  dear, 
dear!  Why  had  he  not  known  it?  Why  had  he  left  her? 
Yet  how  could  he  stay?  His  mother  was  dying  perhaps. 
He  must  not  fail  her  in  what  might  be  her  last  summons. 
Life  and  death  were  pulling  at  his  heart,  tearing  him 
asunder. 

The  vision  of  the  little  brown  girl  and  the  little  brown 
horse  blurred  and  faded.  He  tried  to  look,  but  could  not 
see.  He  brought  his  eyes  to  nearer  vision  to  fix  their 
focus  for  another  look,  and  straight  before  him  whirled 
a  shackly  old  saloon,  rough  and  tumble,  its  character 
apparent  from  the  men  who  were  grouped  about  its 
doorway  and  from  the  barrels  and  kegs  in  profusion  out- 
side. From  the  doorway  issued  four  men,  wiping  their 
mouths  and  shouting  hilariously.  Four  horses  stood  tied 
to  a  fence  near  by.  They  were  so  instantly  passed,  and 
so  vaguely  seen,  that  he  could  not  be  sure  in  the  least,  but 
those  four  men  reminded  him  strongly  of  the  four  who 
had  passed  the  schoolhouse  on  Sunday. 

He  shuddered,  and  looked  back.  The  little  brown 
horse  and  the  little  brown  girl  were  one  with  the  little 
brown  station  so  far  away,  and  presently  the  saloon  and 
men  were  blotted  out  in  one  blur  of  green  and  brown  and 
yellow. 

He  looked  to  the  ground  in  his  despair.  He  must  go 
back.  He  could  not  leave  her  in  such  peril.  She  was 
his    to    care   for    by    all  the   rights   of    manhood    and 


100  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

womanhood.  She  had  been  put  in  his  way.  It  was  his 
duty. 

But  the  ground  whirled  by  under  his  madness,  and 
showed  him  plainly  that  to  jump  off  would  be  instant 
death.  Then  the  thought  of  his  mother  came  again,  and 
the  girl's  words,  ''I  am  nothing  to  you,  you  know." 

The  train  whirled  its  way  between  two  mountains  and 
the  valley,  and  the  green  and  brown  and  yellow  blur  were 
gone  from  sight.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  just  seen  the  coffin 
close  over  the  girl's  sweet  face,  and  he  had  done  it. 

By  and  by  he  crawled  into  the  car,  pulled  his  slouch 
hat  down  over  his  eyes,  and  settled  down  in  a  seat;  but 
all  the  time  he  was  trying  to  see  over  again  that  old  saloon 
and  those  four  men,  and  to  make  out  their  passing  identity. 
Sometimes  the  agony  of  thinking  it  all  over,  and  trying 
to  make  out  whether  those  men  had  been  the  pursuers, 
made  him  feel  frantic;  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  pull 
the  bell-cord,  and  make  the  train  stop,  and  get  off  to 
walk  back.  Then  the  utter  hopelessness  of  ever  finding 
her  would  come  over  him,  and  he  would  settle  back  in 
his  seat  again  and  try  to  sleep.  But  the  least  drowsiness 
would  bring  a  vision  of  the  girl  galloping  alone  over  the 
prairie  with  the  four  men  in  full  pursuit  behind.  "EUza- 
beth,  Elizabeth,  Elizabeth!"  the  car-wheels  seemed  to 
say. 

Elizabeth  —  that  was  all  he  had  of  her.  He  did  not 
know  the  rest  of  her  name,  nor  where  she  was  going.  He 
did  not  even  know  where  she  had  come  from,  just  ''Eliza- 
beth" and  ''Montana."  If  anything  happened  to  her, 
he  would  never  know.  Oh!  why  had  he  left  her?  Why 
had  he  not  made  her  go  with  him?  In  a  case  like  that  a 
man  should  assert  his  authority.  But,  then,  it  was  true. 
he  had  none,  and  she  had  said  she  would  run  away.    She 


THE    PARTING  101 

would  have  done  it  too.  O,  if  it  had  been  anything  but 
sickness  and  possible  death  at  the  other  end  —  and  his 
mother,  his  own  little  mother!  Nothing  else  would  have 
kept  him  from  staying  to  protect  Elizabeth. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been!  There  were  questions  he 
might  have  asked,  and  plans  they  might  have  made,  all 
those  beautiful  days  and  those  moon-silvered  nights.  If 
any  other  man  had  done  the  same,  he  would  have  thought 
him  lacking  mentally.  But  here  he  had  maundered  on, 
and  never  found  out  the  all-important  things  about  her. 
Yet  how  did  he  know  then  how  important  they  were  to 
be?  It  had  seemed  as  if  they  had  all  the  world  before 
them  in  the  brilliant  sunlight.  How  could  he  know  that 
modern  improvements  were  to  seize  him  in  the  midst  of  a 
prairie  waste,  and  whirl  him  off  from  her  when  he  had 
just  begun  to  know  what  she  was,  and  to  prize  her  com- 
pany as  a  most  precious  gift  dropped  down  from  heaven 
at  his  feet? 

By  degrees  he  came  out  of  his  hysterical  frenzy,  and 
returned  to  a  somewhat  normal  state  of  mind.  He 
reasoned  himself  several  times  into  the  belief  that  those 
men  were  not  in  the  least  like  the  men  he  had  seen  Sunday. 
He  knew  that  one  could  not  recognize  one's  ov/n  brother 
at  that  distance  and  that  rate  of  passing  speed.  He  tried 
to  think  that  Elizabeth  w^ould  be  cared  for.  She  had 
come  through  many  a  danger,  and  was  it  likely  that  the 
God  in  whom  she  trusted,  who  had  guarded  her  so  many 
times  in  her  great  peril,  would  desert  her  now  in  her  dire 
need?  Would  He  not  raise  up  help  for  her  somewhere? 
Perhaps  another  man  as  good  as  he,  and  as  trustworthy  as 
he  had  tried  to  be,  would  find  her  and  help  her. 

But  that  thought  was  not  pleasant.  He  put  it  away 
impatiently.     It  cut  him.     Why  had  she  talked  so  much 


102  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

about  the  lady?  The  lady!  Ah!  How  was  it  the  lady 
came  no  more  into  his  thoughts?  The  memory  of  her 
haughty  face  no  more  quickened  his  heart-beats.  Was 
he  fickle  that  he  could  lose  what  he  had  supposed  was  a 
lifelong  passion  in  a  few  days? 

The  darkness  was  creeping  on.  Where  was  Elizabeth? 
Had  she  found  a  refuge  for  the  night?  Or  was  she 
wandering  on  an  unknown  trail,  hearing  voices  and  oaths 
through  the  darkness,  and  seeing  the  gleaming  of  wild 
eyes  low  in  the  bushes  ahead?  How  could  he  have  left 
her?  How  could  he?  He  must  go  back  even  yet.  He 
must,  he  must,  he  must! 

And  so  it  went  on  through  the  long  night. 

The  train  stopped  at  several  places  to  take  on  water; 
but  there  seemed  to  be  no  human  habitation  near,  or  else 
his  eyes  were  dim  with  his  trouble.  Once,  when  they 
stopped  longer  than  the  other  times,  he  got  up  and 
walked  the  length  of  the  car  and  down  the  steps  to  the 
ground.  He  even  stood  there,  and  let  the  train  start 
jerkily  on  till  his  car  had  passed  him,  and  the  steps  were 
just  sliding  by,  and  tried  to  think  whether  he  would  not 
stay,  and  go  back  in  some  way  to  find  her.  Then  the 
impossibility  of  the  search,  and  of  his  getting  back  in  time 
to  do  any  good,  helped  him  to  spring  on  board  just  before 
it  was  too  late.  He  walked  back  to  his  seat  saying  to 
himself,  'Tool!     Fool!'' 

It  was  not  till  morning  that  he  remembered  his  baggage 
and  went  in  search  of  it.  There  he  found  a  letter  from 
his  cousin,  with  other  letters  and  telegrams  explaining  the 
state  of  affairs  at  home.  He  came  back  to  his  seat  laden 
with  a  large  leather  grip  and  a  suitcase.  He  sat  down  to 
read  his  letters,  and  these  took  his  mind  away  from  his 
troubled  thoughts  for  a  little  while.    There  was  a  letter 


THE    PARTING  103 

from  his  mother,  sweet,  graceful,  half  wistfully  offering 
her  sympathy.  He  saw  she  guessed  the  reason  why  he 
had  left  her  and  gone  to  this  far  place.  Dear  little  mother! 
What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  his  trouble  now?  And 
then  would  return  his  heart-frenzy  over  Elizabeth's  peril. 
O  to  know  that  she  was  protected,  hidden! 

Fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he  came  upon  a  slip  of  paper, 
the  slip  the  girl  had  given  Elizabeth  in  the  schoolhouse 
on  Sunday  afternoon.  ''For  in  the  time  of  trouble  he 
shall  hide  me  in  his  pavilion;  in  the  secret  of  his  tabernacle 
shall  he  hide  me.'' 

Ah!  God  had  hidden  her  then.  Why  not  again? 
And  what  was  that  he  had  said  to  her  himself,  when 
searching  for  a  word  to  cover  his  emotion?  ''I  pray  for 
you!"  Why  could  he  not  pray?  She  had  made  him 
pray  in  the  wilderness.  Should  he  not  pray  for  her  who 
was  in  peril  now?  He  leaned  back  in  the  hot,  uncomfort- 
able car-seat,  pulling  his  hat  down  closer  over  his  eyes, 
and  prayed  as  he  had  never  prayed  before.  ''  Our  Father  " 
he  stumbled  through  as  far  as  he  could  remember,  and 
tried  to  think  how  her  sweet  voice  had  filled  in  the  places 
where  he  had  not  known  it  the  other  time.  Then,  when 
he  was  done,  he  waited  and  prayed,  ''Our  Father,  care 
for  Ehzabeth,"  and  added,  "For  Jesus'  sake.  Amen." 
Thereafter  through  the  rest  of  his  journey,  and  for  days 
and  weeks  stretching  ahead,  he  prayed  that  prayer,  and 
sometimes  found  in  it  his  only  solace  from  the  terrible 
fear  that  possessed  him  lest  some  harm  had  come  to  the 
girl,  whom  it  seemed  to  him  now  he  had  deserted  in  cold 
blood. 


CHAPTER  IX 


IN    A   TRAP 


Elizabeth  rode  straight  out  to  the  east,  crossing  the 
town  as  rapidly  as  possible,  going  full  gallop  where  the 
streets  were  empty.  On  the  edge  of  the  town  she  crossed 
another  trail  running  back  the  way  that  they  had  come; 
but  without  swerving  she  turned  out  toward  the  world, 
and  soon  passed  into  a  thick  growth  of  trees,  around  a 
hill. 

Not  three  minutes  elapsed  after  she  had  passed  the  cross- 
ing of  the  trails  before  the  four  men  rode  across  from  the 
other  direction,  and,  pausing,  called  to  one  another,  look- 
ing this  way  and  that: 

''What  d'ye  think,  Bill?  Shall  we  risk  the  right  hand 
'r  the  left?" 

''Take  the  left  hand  fer  luck,"  answered  Bill.  "Let^s 
go  over  to  the  ranch  and  ask.  Ef  she's  been  hereabouts, 
she's  likely  there.  The  old  woman  '11  know.  Come  on, 
boys!" 

And  who  shall  say  that  the  angel  of  the  Lord  did  not 
stand  within  the  crossing  of  the  ways  and  turn  aside  the 
evil  men? 

Elizabeth  did  not  stop  her  fierce  ride  until  about  noon. 
The  frenzy  of  her  fear  of  pursuit  had  come  upon  her  with 
renewed  force.  Now  that  she  was  alone  and  desolate 
she  dared  not  look  behind  her.  She  had  been  strong 
enough  as  she  smiled  her  farewell;  but,  when  the  train 
had  dwindled  into  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance,  her  eyes 

104 


IN   A   TRAP  105 

were  dropping  tears  thick  and  fast  upon  the  horse's 
mane.  So  in  the  first  heaviness  of  her  loneUness  she  rode 
as  if  pursued  by  enemies  close  at  hand. 

But  the  horse  must  rest  if  she  did  not,  for  he  was  her 
only  dependence  now.  So  she  sat  her  down  in  the  shade 
of  a  tree,  and  tried  to  eat  some  dinner.  The  tears  came 
again  as  she  opened  the  pack  which  the  man's  strong 
hands  had  bound  together  for  her.  How  little  she  had 
thought  at  breakfast-time  that  she  would  eat  the  next 
meal  alone! 

It  was  all  well  enough  to  tell  him  he  must  go,  and  say 
she  was  nothing  to  him;  but  it  was  different  now  to  face 
the  world  without  a  single  friend  when  one  had  learned 
to  know  how  good  a  friend  could  be.  Almost  it  would 
have  been  better  if  he  had  never  found  her,  never  saved 
her  from  the  serpent,  never  ridden  beside  her  and  talked 
of  wonderful  new  things  to  her;  for  now  that  he  was 
gone  the  emptiness  and  loneliness  were  so  much  harder  to 
bear;  and  now  she  was  filled  with  a  longing  for  things  that 
could  not  be  hers. 

It  was  well  he  had  gone  so  soon,  well  she  had  no  longer 
to  grow  into  the  charm  of  his  society;  for  he  belonged 
to  the  lady,  and  was  not  hers.  Thus  she  ate  her  dinner 
with  the  indifference  of  sorrow. 

Then  she  took  out  the  envelope,  and  counted  over  the 
money.  Forty  dollars  he  had  given  her.  She  knew  he 
had  kept  but  five  for  himself.  How  wonderful  that  he 
should  have  done  all  that  for  her!  It  seemed  a  very  great 
wealth  in  her  possession.  Well,  she  would  use  it  as 
sparingly  as  possible,  and  thus  be  able  the  sooner  to  re- 
turn it  all  to  him.  Some  she  must  use,  she  supposed,  to 
buy  food;  but  she  would  do  with  as  little  as  she  could. 
She  might  sometimes  shoot  a  bird,  or  catch  a  fish;  oi 


106  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

there  might  be  berries  fit  for  food  by  the  way.  Nights 
she  must  stop  by  the  way  at  a  respectable  house.  That 
she  had  promised.  He  had  told  her  of  awful  things  that 
might  happen  to  her  if  she  lay  down  in  the  wilderness 
alone.  Her  lodging  would  sometimes  cost  her  something. 
Yet  often  they  would  take  her  in  for  nothing.  She  would 
be  careful  of  the  money. 

She  studied  the  name  on  the  envelope.     George  Trescott 

Benedict,  2 Walnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Penn.    The 

letters  were  large  and  angular,  not  easy  to  read;  but  she 
puzzled  them  out.  It  did  not  look  like  his  writing.  She 
had  watched  him  as  he  wrote  the  old  woman's  address 
in  his  little  red  book.  He  wrote  small,  round  letters,, 
slanting  backwards,  plain  as  print,  pleasant  writing  to 
read.  Now  the  old  woman's  address  would  never  be  of 
any  use,  and  her  wish  that  Elizabeth  should  travel  alone 
was  fulfilled. 

There  was  a  faint  perfume  from  the  envelope  like  wild- 
wood  flowers.  She  breathed  it  in,  and  wondered  at  it. 
Was  it  perfume  from  something  he  carried  in  his  pocket, 
some  flower  his  lady  had  once  given  him?  But  this  was 
not  a  pleasant  thought.  She  put  the  envelope  into  her 
bosom  after  studying  it  again  carefully  until  she  knew 
the  words  by  heart. 

Then  she  drew  forth  the  papers  of  her  mother's  that 
she  had  brought  from  home,  and  for  the  first  time  read 
them  over. 

The  first  was  the  marriage  certificate.  That  she  had 
seen  before,  and  had  studied  with  awe;  but  the  others 
had  been  kept  in  a  box  that  was  never  opened  by  the 
children.  The  mother  kept  them  sacredly,  always  with 
the  certificate  on  the  top. 

The  largest  paper  she  could  not  understand.     It  was 


IN   A    TRAP  107 

something  about  a  mine.  There  were  a  great  many 
"herebys"  and  ''whereases"  and  ''agreements"  in  it. 
She  put  it  back  into  the  wrapper  as  of  Httle  account, 
probably  something  belonging  to  her  father,  which  her 
mother  had  treasured  for  old  time's  sake. 

Then  came  a  paper  which  related  to  the  claim  where 
their  little  log  home  had  stood,  and  upon  the  extreme 
edge  of  which  the  graves  were.  That,  too,  she  laid  rev- 
erently within  its  wrapper. 

Next  came  a  bit  of  pasteboard  whereon  was  inscribed, 
"Mrs.  Merrill  Wilton  Bailey,  Rittenhouse  Square,  Tues- 
days." That  she  knew  was  her  grandmother's  name, 
though  she  had  never  seen  the  card  before  —  her  father's 
mother.  She  looked  at  the  card  in  wonder.  It  was 
almost  like  a  distant  view  of  the  lady  in  question.  What 
kind  of  a  place  might  Rittenhouse  Square  be,  and  where 
was  it?  There  was  no  telling.  It  might  be  near  that 
wonderful  Desert  of  Sahara  that  the  man  had  talked 
about.     She  laid  it  down  with  a  sigh. 

There  was  only  one  paper  left,  and  that  was  a  letter 
written  in  pale  pencil  lines.     It  said: 

*'My  dear  Bessie:  Your  pa  died  last  week.  He  was 
killed  falling  from  a  scaffold.  He  was  buried  on  Monday 
with  five  carriages  and  everything  nice.  We  all  got  new 
black  dresses,  and  have  enough  for  a  stone.  If  it  don't 
cost  too  much,  we'll  have  an  angle  on  the  top.  I  always 
thought  an  angle  pointing  to  heaven  was  nice.  We  wish 
you  was  here.  We  miss  you  very  much.  I  hope  your 
husband  is  good  to  you.  Why  don't  you  write  to  us? 
You  haven't  wrote  since  your  little  girl  was  born.  I 
s'pose  you  call  her  Bessie  like  you.  If  anything  ever 
happens  to  you,  you  can  send  her  to  me.     I'd  kind  of 


108  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

like  her  to  fill  your  place.  Your  sister  has  got  a  baby 
girl  too.  She  calls  her  Lizzie.  We  couldn't  somehow 
have  it  natural  to  call  her  'Lizabeth,  and  Nan  wanted  her 
called  for  me.  I  was  always  Lizzie,  you  know.  Now 
you  must  write  soon. 

''Your  loving  mother, 

"Elizabeth  Brady.'' 

There  was  no  date  nor  address  to  the  letter,  but  an 
address  had  been  pencilled  on  the  outside  in  her  mother's 
cramped  school-girl  hand.  It  was  dim  but  still  readable, 
"Mrs.  Elizabeth  Brady,  18—  Flora  Street,  Philadelphia." 

Elizabeth  studied  the  last  word,  then  drew  out  the 
envelope  again,  and  looked  at  that.  Yes,  the  two  names 
were  the  same.  How  wonderful!  Perhaps  she  would 
sometime,  sometime,  see  him  again,  though  of  course  he 
belonged  to  the  lady.  But  perhaps,  if  she  went  to  school 
and  learned  very  fast,  she  might  sometime  meet  him  at 
church  —  he  went  to  church,  she  was  sure  —  and  then 
he  might  smile,  and  not  be  ashamed  of  his  friend  who  had 
saved  his  life.  Saved  his  life!  Nonsense!  She  had  not 
done  much.  He  would  not  feel  any  such  ridiculous 
indebtedness  to  her  when  he  got  back  to  home  and  friends 
and  safety.  He  had  saved  her  much  more  than  she  had 
saved  him. 

She  put  the  papers  all  back  in  safety,  and  after  having 
prepared  her  few  belongings  for  taking  up  the  journey, 
she  knelt  down.  She  would  say  the  prayer  before  she 
went  on.  It  might  be  that  would  keep  the  terrible  pur- 
suers away. 

She  said  it  once,  and  then  with  eyes  still  closed  she 
waited  a  moment.  Might  she  say  it  for  him,  who  was 
gone  away  from  her?     Perhaps  it  would  help  him,  and 


IN   A    TRAP  109 

keep  him  from  falling  from  that  terrible  machine  he  was 
riding  on.  Hitherto  in  her  mind  prayers  had  been  only 
for  the  dead,  but  now  they  seemed  also  to  belong  to  all 
who  were  in  danger  or  trouble.  She  said  the  prayer 
over  once  more,  slowly,  then  paused  a  moment,  and 
added:  ''Our  Father,  hide  him  from  trouble.  Hide 
George  Trescott  Benedict.     And  hide  me,  please,  too." 

Then  she  mounted  her  horse,  and  went  on  her  way. 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  way.  It  reached  over  moun- 
tains and  through  valleys,  across  winding,  turbulent 
streams  and  broad  rivers  that  had  few  bridges.  The 
rivers  twice  led  her  further  south  than  she  meant  to  go, 
in  her  ignorance.  She  had  always  felt  that  Philadelphia 
was  straight  ahead  east,  as  straight  as  one  could  go  to 
the  heart  of  the  sun. 

Night  after  night  she  lay  down  in  strange  homes,  some 
poorer  and  more  forlorn  than  others;  and  day  after  day 
she  took  up  her  lonely  travel  again. 

Gradually,  as  the  days  lengthened,  and  mountains  piled 
themselves  behind  her,  and  rivers  stretched  like  barriers 
between,  she  grew  less  and  less  to  dread  her  pursuers, 
and  more  and  more  to  look  forward  to  the  future.  It 
seemed  so  long  a  way!     Would  it  never  end? 

Once  she  asked  a  man  whether  he  knew  where  Phila- 
delphia was.     She  had  been  travelling  then  for  weeks, 
and  thought  she  must  be  almost  there.     But  he  said 
''Philadelphia?     O,  Philadelphia  is  in  the  East.     That's 
a  long  way  off.     I  saw  a  man  once  who  came  from  there.'* 

She  set  her  firm  little  chin  then,  and  travelled  on.  Her 
clothes  were  much  worn,  and  her  skin  was  brown  as  a 
berry.  The  horse  plodded  on  with  a  dejected  air.  He 
would  have  liked  to  stop  at  a  number  of  places  they 
passed,  and  remain  for  life,  what  there  was  left  of  it;  but 


110  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

he  obediently  walked  on  over  any  kind  of  an  old  road  that 
came  in  his  way,  and  solaced  himself  with  whatever  kind 
of  a  bite  the  roadside  afforded.  He  was  becoming  a 
much-travelled  horse.  He  knew  a  threshing-machine  by 
sight  now,  and  considered  it  no  more  than  a  prairie  bob- 
cat. 

At  one  stopping-place  a  good  woman  advised  Elizabeth 
to  rest  on  Sundays.  She  told  her  God  didn't  like  people 
to  do  the  same  on  His  day  as  on  other  days,  and  it  would 
bring  her  bad  luck  if  she  kept  up  her  incessant  riding. 
It  was  bad  for  the  horse  too.  So,  the  night  being 
Saturday,  Elizabeth  remained  with  the  woman  over  the 
Sabbath,  and  heard  read  aloud  the  fourteenth  chapter 
of  John.  It  was  a  wonderful  revelation  to  her.  She  did 
not  altogether  understand  it.  In  fact,  the  Bible  was  an 
unknown  book.  She  had  never  known  that  it  was  differ- 
ent from  other  books.  She  had  heard  it  spoken  of  by  her 
mother,  but  only  as  a  book.  She  did  not  know  it  was  a 
book  of  books. 

She  carried  the  beautiful  thoughts  with  her  on  the 
way,  and  pondered  them.  She  wished  she  might  have 
the  book.  She  remembered  the  name  of  it,  Bible,  the 
Book  of  God.  Then  God  had  written  a  book!  Some  day 
she  would  try  to  find  it  and  read  it. 

''Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled";  so  much  of  the 
message  drifted  into  her  lonesome,  ignorant  soul,  and 
settled  down  to  stay.  She  said  it  over  nights  when  she 
found  a  shelter  in  some  unpleasant  place,  or  days  when 
the  road  was  rough  or  a  storm  came  up  and  she  was  com- 
pelled to  seek  shelter  by  the  roadside  under  a  haystack 
or  in  a  friendly  but  deserted  shack.  She  thought  of  it 
the  day  there  was  no  shelter  and  she  was  drenched  to  the 
skin.     She  wondered  afterward  when  the  sun  came  out 


IN  A   TRAP  111 

and  dried  her  nicely  whether  God  had  really  been  speak- 
ing the  words  to  her  troubled  heart,  ''Let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled." 

Every  night  and  every  morning  she  said  "Our  Father" 
twice,  once  for  herself  and  once  for  the  friend  who  had 
gone  out  into  the  world,  it  seemed  about  a  hundred  years 
ago. 

But  one  day  she  came  across  a  railroad  track.  It 
made  her  heart  beat  widlly.  It  seemed  now  that  she  must 
be  almost  there.  Railroads  were  things  belonging  to  the 
East  and  civilization.  But  the  way  was  lonely  still  for 
days,  and  then  she  crossed  more  railroads,  becoming  more 
and  more  frequent,  and  came  into  the  line  of  towns  that 
stretched  along  beside  the  snake-like  tracks. 

She  fell  into  the  habit  of  staying  overnight  in  a  town, 
and  then  riding  on  to  the  next  in  the  morning;  but  now 
her  clothes  were  becoming  so  dirty  and  ragged  that  she 
felt  ashamed  to  go  to  nice-looking  places  lest  they  should 
turn  her  out;  so  she  sought  shelter  in  barns  and  small, 
mean  houses.  But  the  people  in  these  houses  were  dis- 
tressingly dirty,  and  she  found  no  place  to  wash. 

She  had  lost  track  of  the  weeks  or  the  months  when  she 
reached  her  first  great  city,  the  only  one  she  had  come  near 
in  her  uncharted  wanderings. 

Into  the  outskirts  of  Chicago  she  rode  undaunted,  her 
head  erect,  with  the  carriage  of  a  queen.  She  had  passed 
Indians  and  cowboys  in  her  journeying;  why  should  she 
mind  Chicago?  Miles  and  miles  of  houses  and  people. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  it.  Nothing  but  houses 
everywhere  and  hurried-looking  people,  many  of  them 
working  hard.     Surely  this  must  be  Philadelphia. 

A  large,  beautiful  building  attracted  her  attention. 
There  were  handsome  grounds  about  it,  and  girls  playing 


112  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

some  game  with  a  ball  and  curious  webbed  implements 
across  a  net  of  cords.  Elizabeth  drew  her  horse  to  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  watched  a  few  minutes.  One  girl 
was  skilful,  and  hit  the  ball  back  every  time.  Elizabeth 
almost  exclaimed  out  loud  once  when  a  particularly  fine 
ball  was  played.  She  rode  reluctantly  on  when  the  game 
was  finished,  and  saw  over  the  arched  gateway  the  words, 
^'Janeway  School  for  Girls.'^ 

Ah!  This  was  Philadelphia  at  last,  and  here  was  her 
school.  She  would  go  in  at  once  before  she  went  to  her 
grandmother's.     It  might  be  better. 

She  dismounted,  and  tied  the  horse  to  an  iron. ring  in  a 
post  by  the  sidewalk.  Then  she  went  slowly,  shyly  up 
the  steps  into  the  charmed  circles  of  learning.  She  knew 
she  was  shabby,  but  her  long  journey  would  explain  that. 
Would  they  be  kind  to  her,  and  let  her  study? 

She  stood  some  time  before  the  door,  with  a  group  of 
laughing  girls  not  far  away  whispering  about  her.  She 
smiled  at  them;  but  they  did  not  return  the  salutation, 
and  their  actions  made  her  more  shy.  At  last  she  stepped 
into  the  open  door,  and  a  maid  in  cap  and  apron  came 
forward.  "You  must  not  come  in  here,  miss/'  she  said 
imperiously.     ''This  is  a  school." 

"Yes,"  said  Elizabeth  gravely,  smiling.  "I  want  to 
see  the  teacher." 

"She's  busy.     You  can't  see  her,"  snapped  the  maid. 

"Then  I  will  wait  till  she  is  ready.  I've  come  a  great 
many  miles,  and  I  must  see  her." 

The  maid  retreated  at  this,  and  an  elegant  woman  in 
trailing  black  silk  and  gold-rimmed  glasses  approached 
threateningly.  This  was  a  new  kind  of  beggar,  of  course, 
and  must  be  dealt  with  at  once. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  frigidly. 


IN  A   TRAP  113 

*'Vve  come  to  school/'  said  Elizabeth  confidingly.  ^'I 
know  I  don't  look  very  nice,  but  I've  had  to  come  all  the 
way  from  Montana  on  horseback.  If  you  could  let  me 
go  where  I  can  have  some  water  and  a  thread  and  needle, 
I  can  make  myself  look  better." 

The  woman  eyed  the  girl  incredulously. 

''You  have  come  to  school!"  she  said;  and  her  voice 
was  large,  and  frightened  Elizabeth.  "You  have  come 
all  the  way  from  Montana!  Impossible!  You  must  be 
crazy." 

"No,  ma'am,  I'm  not  crazy,"  said  Elizabeth.  "I  just 
want  to  go  to  school." 

The  woman  perceived  that  this  might  be  an  interesting 
case  for  benevolently  inclined  people.  It  was  nothing  but 
an  annoyance  to  herself.  "My  dear  girl,"  —  her  tone 
was  bland  and  disagreeable  now,  —  "are  you  aware  that 
it  takes  money  to  come  to  school?" 

"Does  it?"  said  EUzabeth.  "No,  I  didn't  know  it, 
but  I  have  some  money.  I  could  give  you  ten  dollars 
right  now;  and,  if  that  is  not  enough,  I  might  work  some 
way,  and  earn  more." 

The  woman  laughed  disagreeably. 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  said.  "The  yearly  tuition  here 
is  five  hundred  dollars.  Besides,  we  do  not  take  girls 
of  your  class.  This  is  a  finishing  school  for  young  ladies. 
You  will  have  to  inquire  further,"  and  the  woman  swept 
away  to  laugh  with  her  colleagues  over  the  queer  charac- 
ter, the  new  kind  of  tramp,  she  had  just  been  called  to 
interview.  The  maid  came  pertly  forward,  and  said  that 
Elizabeth  could  not  longer  stand  where  she  was. 

Bewilderment  and  bitter  disappointment  in  her  face, 
Elizabeth  went  slowly  down  to  her  horse,  the  great  tears 
welling  up  into  her  eyes.     As  she  rode  away,  she  kept 


114  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

turning  back  to  the  school  grounds  wistfully.  She  did 
not  notice  the  passers-by,  nor  know  that  they  were  com- 
menting upon  her  appearance.  She  made  a  striking 
picture  in  her  rough  garments,  with  her  wealth  of  hair, 
her  tanned  skin,  and  tear-filled  eyes.  An  artist  noticed 
it,  and  watched  her  down  the  street,  half  thinking  he 
would  follow  and  secure  her  as  a  model  for  his  next 
picture. 

A  woman,  gaudily  bedecked  in  soiled  finery,  her  face 
giving  evidence  of  the  frequent  use  of  rouge  and  powder, 
watched  her,  and  followed,  pondering.  At  last  she  called, 
''My  dear,  my  dear,  wait  a  minute."  She  had  to  speak 
several  times  before  Elizabeth  saw  that  she  was  talking 
to  her.     Then  the  horse  was  halted  by  the  sidewalk. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  woman,  "you  look  tired  and  dis- 
appointed. Don't  you  want  to  come  home  with  me  for 
a  little  while,  and  rest?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Elizabeth,  "but  I  am  afraid  I  must 
go  on.     I  only  stop  on  Sundays." 

"  But  just  come  home  with  me  for  a  little  while,"  coaxed 
the  wheedling  tones.  "You  look  so  tired,  and  I've  some 
girls  of  my  own.  I  know  you  would  enjoy  resting  and 
talking  with  them." 

The  kindness  in  her  tones  touched  the  weary  girl.  Her 
pride  had  been  stung  to  the  quick  by  the  haughty  woman 
in  the  school.  This  woman  would  soothe  her  with  kind- 
ness. 

"Do  you  live  far  from  here?"  asked  EHzabeth. 

"Only  two  or  three  blocks,"  said  the  woman.  "You 
ride  along  by  the  sidewalk,  and  w^e  can  talk.  Where  are 
you  going?     You  look  as  if  you  had  come  a  long  distance." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  wearily,  "from  Montana.  I  am 
going  to  school.     Is  this  Philadelphia?" 


IN   A   TRAP  115 

"This  is  Chicago,"  said  the  woman.  *' There  are  finer 
schools  here  than  in  Philadelphia.  If  you  like  to  come 
and  stay  at  my  house  awhile,  I  will  see  about  getting 
you  into  a  school." 

"Is  it  hard  work  to  get  people  into  schools?"  asked  the 
girl  wonderingly.  "I  thought  they  would  want  people 
to  teach." 

"No,  it's  very  hard,"  said  the  lying  woman;  "but  I 
think  I  know  a  school  where  I  can  get  you  in.  Where  are 
your  folks?    Are  they  in  Montana?" 

"They  are  all  dead,"  said  Elizabeth,  "and  I  have  come 
away  to  school." 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  woman  glibly.  "Come  right 
home  with  me,  and  I'll  take  care  of  you.  I  know  a  nice 
way  you  can  earn  your  living,  and  then  you  can  study  if 
you  like.  But  you're  quite  big  to  go  to  school.  It  seems 
to  me  you  could  have  a  good  time  without  that.  You 
are  a  very  pretty  girl;  do  you  know  it?  You  only  need 
pretty  clothes  to  make  you  a  beauty.  If  you  come  with 
me,  I  will  let  you  earn  some  beautiful  new  clothes." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  girl  gravely.  "I  do 
need  new  clothes;  and,  if  I  could  earn  them,  that  would 
be  all  the  better."  She  did  not  quite  like  the  woman; 
yet  of  course  that  was  foolish. 

After  a  few  more  turns  they  stopped  in  front  of  a  tall 
brick  building  with  a  number  of  windows.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  good  deal  like  other  buildings;  in  fact,  as  she 
looked  up  the  street,  Elizabeth  thought  there  were 
miles  of  them  just. alike.  She  tied  her  horse  in  front  of 
the  door,  and  went  in  with  the  woman.  The  woman 
told  her  to  sit  down  a  minute  until  she  called  the  lady  of 
the  house,  who  would  tell  her  more  about  the  school. 
There  were  a  number  of  pretty  girls  in  the  room,  and  they 


116  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

made  very  free  to  speak  to  her.  They  twitted  her  about 
her  clothes,  and  in  a  way  reminded  Ehzabeth  of  the 
girls  in  the  school  she  had  just  interviewed. 

Suddenly  she  spoke  up  to  the  group.  An  idea  had 
occurred  to  her.  This  was  the  school,  and  the  woman  had 
not  liked  to  say  so  until  she  spoke  to  the  teacher  about 
her. 

^'Is  this  a  school?"  she  asked  shyly. 

Her  question  was  met  with  a  shout  of  derisive  laughter. 

''School!"  cried  the  boldest,  prettiest  one.  ''School 
for  scandal!     School  for  morals!" 

There  was  one,  a  thin,  pale  girl  with  dark  circles  under 
her  eyes,  a  sad  droop  to  her  mouth,  and  bright  scarlet 
spots  in  her  cheeks.  She  came  over  to  Elizabeth,  and 
whispered  something  to  her.  Elizabeth  started  forward, 
unspeakable  horror  in  her  face. 

She  fled  to  the  door  where  she  had  come  in,  but  found  it 
fastened.  Then  she  turned  as  if  she  had  been  brought  to 
bay  by  a  pack  of  lions. 


CHAPTER  X 

PHILADELPHIA    AT   LAST 

"Open  this  door!"  she  commanded.  "Let  me  out  of 
here  at  once." 

The  pale  girl  started  to  do  so,  but  the  pretty  one  held 
her  back.  "No,  Nellie;  Madam  will  be  angry  with  us  all 
if  you  open  that  door."  Then  she  turned  to  Elizabeth, 
and  said: 

"  Whoever  enters  that  door  never  goes  out  again.  You 
are  nicely  caught,  my  dear." 

There  was  a  sting  of  bitterness  and  self-pity  in  the 
taunt  at  the  end  of  the  words,  Elizabeth  felt  it,  as  she 
seized  her  pistol  from  her  belt,  and  pointed  it  at  the 
astonished  group.  They  were  not  accustomed  to  girls 
with  pistols.  "Open  that  door,  or  I  will  shoot  you  all!" 
she  cried. 

Then,  as  she  heard  some  one  descending  the  stairs,  she 
rushed  again  into  the  room  where  she  remembered  the 
windows  were  open.  They  were  guarded  by  wire  screens; 
but  she  caught  up  a  chair,  and  dashed  it  through  one, 
plunging  out  into  the  street  in  spite  of  detaining  hands 
that  reached  for  her,  hands  much  hindered  by  the  gleam 
of  the  pistol  and  the  fear  that  it  might  go  off  in  their 
midst. 

It  took  but  an  instant  to  wrench  the  bridle  from  its 
fastening  and  mount  her  horse;  then  she  rode  forward 
through  the  city  at  a  pace  that  only  millionaires  and 
automobiles  are  allowed  to  take.     She  met  and  passed 

117 


118  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

her  first  automobile  without  a  quiver.  Her  eyes  were 
dilated,  her  lips  set;  angry,  frightened  tears  were  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks,  and  she  urged  her  poor  horse  for- 
ward until  a  policeman  here  and  there  thought  it  his 
duty  to  make  a  feeble  effort  to  detain  her.  But  nothing 
impeded  her  way.  She  fled  through  a  maze  of  wagons, 
carriages,  automobiles,  and  trolley-cars,  until  she  passed 
the  whirl  of  the  great  city,  and  at  last  was  free  again  and 
out  in  the  open  country. 

She  came  toward  evening  to  a  little  cottage  on  the  edge 
of  a  pretty  suburb.  The  cottage  was  covered  with  roses, 
and  the  front  yard  was  full  of  great  old-fashioned  flowers. 
On  the  porch  sat  a  plain  little  old  lady  in  a  rocking-chair, 
knitting.  There  was  a  little  gate  with  a  path  leading  up 
to  the  door,  and  at  the  side  another  open  gate  with  a  road 
leading  around  to  the  back  of  the  cottage. 

Ehzabeth  saw,  and  murmuring,  ''O  'our  Father,' 
please  hide  me!"  she  dashed  into  the  driveway,  and  tore 
up  to  the  side  of  the  piazza  at  a  full  gallop.  She  jumped 
from  the  horse;  and,  leaving  him  standing  panting  with 
his  nose  to  the  fence,  and  a  tempting  strip  of  clover  in 
front  of  him  where  he  could  graze  when  he  should  get  his 
breath,  she  ran  up  the  steps,  and  flung  herself  in  a  miser- 
able little  heap  at  the  feet  of  the  astonished  old  lady. 

''0,  please,  please,  won't  you  let  me  stay  here  a  few 
minutes,  and  tell  me  what  to  do?  I  am  so  tired,  and  I 
have  had  such  a  dreadful,  awful  time!" 

"Why,  dearie  me!"  said  the  old  lady.  ''Of  course  I 
will.  Poor  child;  sit  right  down  in  this  rocking-chair, 
and  have  a  good  cry.  I'll  get  you  a  glass  of  water  and 
something  to  eat,  and  then  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it." 

She  brought  the  water,  and  a  tray  with  nice  broad 
slices  of  brown  bread  and  butter,  a  generous  piece  of 


PHILADELPHIA    AT   LAST  119 

apple  pie,  some  cheese,  and  a  glass  pitcher  of  creamy 
milk. 

Elizabeth  drank  the  water,  but  before  she  could  eat 
she  told  the  terrible  tale  of  her  last  adventure.  It  seemed 
awful  for  her  to  believe,  and  she  felt  she  must  have  help 
somewhere.  She  had  heard  there  were  bad  people  in  the 
world.  In  fact,  she  had  seen  men  who  were  bad,  and  once 
a  woman  had  passed  their  ranch  whose  character  was  said 
to  be  questionable.  She  wore  a  hard  face,  and  could  drink 
and  swear  like  the  men.  But  that  sin  should  be  in  this 
form,  with  pretty  girls  and  pleasant,  wheedling  women 
for  agents,  she  had  never  dreamed;  and  this  in  the  great, 
civilized  East!  Almost  better  would  it  have  been  to 
remain  in  the  desert  alone,  and  risk  the  pursuit  of  that 
awful  man,  than  to  come  all  this  way  to  find  the  world 
gone  wrong. 

The  old  lady  was  horrified,  too.  She  had  heard  more 
than  the  girl  of  licensed  evil;  but  she  had  read  it  in  the 
paper  as  she  had  read  about  the  evils  of  the  slave-traffic 
in  Africa,  and  it  had  never  really  seemed  true  to  her. 
Now  she  lifted  up  her  hands  in  horror,  and  looked  at  the 
beautiful  girl  before  her  with  something  akin  to  awe  that 
she  had  been  in  one  of  those  dens  of  iniquity  and  escaped. 
Over  and  over  she  made  the  girl  tell  what  was  said,  and 
how  it  looked,  and  how  she  pointed  her  pistol,  and  how 
she  got  out ;  and  then  she  exclaimed  in  wonder,  and  called 
her  escape  a  miracle. 

They  were  both  weary  from  excitement  when  the  tale 
was  told.  Elizabeth  ate  her  lunch;  then  the  old  lady 
showed  her  where  to  put  the  horse,  and  made  her  go  to 
bed.  It  was  only  a  wee  little  room  with  a  cot-bed  white 
as  snow  where  she  put  her;  but  the  roses  peeped  in  at  the 
window,  and  the  box  covered  with  an  old  white  curtain 


120  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

contained  a  large  pitcher  of  fresh  water  and  a  bowl  and 
soap  and  towels.  The  old  lady  brought  her  a  clean  white 
nightgown,  coarse  and  mended  in  many  places,  but 
smelling  of  rose  leaves;  and  in  the  morning  she  tapped  at 
the  door  quite  early  before  the  girl  was  up,  and  came  in 
with  an  armful  of  clothes. 

''I  had  some  boarders  last  summer,"  she  explained, 
"and,  when  they  went  away,  they  left  these  things  and 
said  I  might  put  them  into  the  home-mission  box.  But  I 
was  sick  when  they  sent  it  off  this  winter;  and,  if  you  ain't 
a  home  mission,  then  I  never  saw  one.  You  put  'em  on. 
I  guess  they'll  fit.  They  may  be  a  mite  large,  but  she 
was  about  your  size.  I  guess  your  clothes  are  about 
wore  out;  so  you  jest  leave  'em  here  fer  the  next  one, 
and  use  these.  There's  a  couple  of  extra  shirt-waists  you 
can  put  in  a  bundle  for  a  change.  I  guess  folks  won't  dare 
fool  with  you  if  you  have  some  clean,  nice  clothes  on." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  her  gratefully,  and  wrote  her  down 
in  the  list  of  saints  with  the  woman  who  read  the  four- 
teenth chapter  of  John.  The  old  lady  had  neglected  to 
mention  that  from  her  own  meagre  wardrobe  she  had 
supplied  some  under-garments,  which  were  not  included 
in  those  the  boarders  had  left. 

Bathed  and  clothed  in  clean,  sweet  garments,  with  a 
white  shirt-waist  and  a  dark-blue  serge  skirt  and  coat, 
Elizabeth  looked  a  different  girl.  She  surveyed  herself 
in  the  little  glass  over  the  box-washstand  and  wondered. 
All  at  once  vanity  was  born  within  her,  and  an  ambition 
to  be  always  thus  clothed,  with  a  horrible  remembrance  of 
the  woman  of  the  day  before,  who  had  promised  to  show 
her  how  to  earn  some  pretty  clothes.  It  flashed  across 
her  mind  that  pretty  clothes  might  be  a  snare.  Perhaps 
they  had  been  to  those  girls  she  had  seen  in  that  house. 


PHILADELPHIA    AT   LAST  121 

With  much  good  advice  and  kindly  blessings  from  the 
old  lady,  Elizabeth  fared  forth  upon  her  journey  once 
more,  sadly  wise  in  the  wisdom  of  the  world,  and  less 
sweetly  credulous  than  she  had  been,  but  better  fitted  to 
fight  her  way. 

The  story  of  her  journey  from  Chicago  to  Philadelphia 
would  fill  a  volume  if  it  were  written,  but  it  might  pall 
upon  the  reader  from  the  very  variety  of  its  experiences. 
It  was  made  slowly  and  painfully,  with  many  haltings 
and  much  lessening  of  the  scanty  store  of  money  that 
had  seemed  so  much  when  she  received  it  in  the  wilder- 
ness. The  horse  went  lame,  and  had  to  be  watched  over 
and  petted,  and  finally,  by  the  advice  of  a  kindly  farmer, 
taken  to  a  veterinary  surgeon,  who  doctored  him  for  a 
week  before  he  finally  said  it  was  safe  to  let  him  hobble 
on  again.  After  that  the  girl  was  more  careful  of  the 
horse.     If  he  should  die,  what  would  she  do? 

One  dismal  morning,  late  in  November,  Elizabeth, 
wearing  the  old  overcoat  to  keep  her  from  freezing,  rode 
into  Philadelphia. 

Armed  with  instructions  from  the  old  lady  in  Chicago, 
she  rode  boldly  up  to  a  policeman,  and  showed  him  the 
address  of  the  grandmother  to  whom  she  had  decided  to 
go  first,  her  mother's  mother.  He  sent  her  on  in  the 
right  direction,  and  in  due  time  with  the  help  of  other 
policemen  she  reached  the  right  number  on  Flora  Street. 

It  was  a  narrow  street,  banked  on  either  side  by  small, 
narrow  brick  houses  of  the  older  type.  Here  and  there 
gleamed  out  a  scrap  of  a  white  marble  door-step,  but 
most  of  the  houses  were  approached  by  steps  of  dull 
stone  or  of  painted  wood.  There  was  a  dejected  and 
dreary  air  about  the  place.  The  street  was  swarming 
with  children  in  various  stages  of  the  soiled  condition. 


122  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

Elizabeth  timidly  knocked  at  the  door  after  being 
assured  by  the  interested  urchins  who  surrounded  her 
that  Mrs.  Brady  really  lived  there,  and  had  not  moved 
away  or  anything.  It  did  not  seem  wonderful  to  the  girl, 
who  had  lived  her  life  thus  far  in  a  mountain  shack,  to 
find  her  grandmother  still  in  the  place  from  which  she  had 
written  fifteen  years  before.  She  did  not  yet  know  what 
a  floating  population  most  cities  contain. 

Mrs.  Brady  was  washing  when  the  knock  sounded 
through  the  house.  She  was  a  broad  woman,  with  a  face 
on  which  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  the  years  had  left  a  not 
too  heavy  impress.  She  still  enjoyed  life,  even  though  a 
good  part  of  it  was  spent  at  the  wash-tub,  washing  other 
people's  fine  clothes.  She  had  some  fine  ones  of  her  own 
up-stairs  in  her  clothes-press;  and,  when  she  went  out,  it 
was  in  shiny  satin,  with  a  bonnet  bobbing  with  jet  and  a 
red  rose,  though  of  late  years,  strictly  speaking,  the 
bonnet  had  become  a  hat  again,  and  Mrs.  Brady  was  in 
style  with  the  other  old  ladies. 

The  perspiration  was  in  little  beads  on  her  forehead 
and  trickling  down  the  creases  in  her  well-cushioned  neck 
toward  her  ample  bosom.  Her  gray  hair  was  neatly 
combed,  and  her  calico  wrapper  was  open  at  the  throat 
even  on  this  cold  day.  She  wiped  on  her  apron  the  soap- 
suds from  her  plump  arms  steaming  pink  from  the  hot 
suds,  and  went  to  the  door. 

She  looked  with  disfavor  upon  the  peculiar  person  on 
the  door-step  attired  in  a  man's  overcoat.  She  was  pre- 
pared to  refuse  the  demands  of  the  Salvation  Army  for 
a  nickel  for  Christmas  dinners;  or  to  silence  the  banana- 
man,  or  the  fish-man,  or  the  man  with  shoe-strings  and 
pins  and  pencils  for  sale;  or  to  send  the  photograph-agent 
on  his  way;  yes,  even  the  man  who  sold  albums  for  post- 


PHILADELPHIA    AT   LAST  123 

cards.  She  had  no  time  to  bother  with  anybody  this 
morning. 

But  the  young  person  in  the  rusty  overcoat,  with  the 
dark-blue  serge  Eton  jacket  under  it,  which  might  have 
come  from  Wanamaker's  two  years  ago,  who  yet  wore  a 
leather  belt  with  gleaming  pistols  under  the  Eton  jacket, 
was  a  new  species.  Mrs.  Brady  w^as  taken  off  her  guard; 
else  Elizabeth  might  have  found  entrance  to  her  grand- 
mother's home  as  difficult  as  she  had  found  entrance  to 
the  finishing  school  of  Madame  Janeway. 

''  Are  you  Mrs.  Brady?  "  asked  the  girl.  She  was  search- 
ing the  forbidding  face  before  her  for  some  sign  of  likeness 
to  her  mother,  but  found  none.  The  cares  of  Eliza- 
beth Brady's  daughter  had  outweighed  those  of  the 
mother,  or  else  they  sat  upon  a  nature  more  sensitive. 

''I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Brady,  imposingly. 

"Grandmother,  I  am  the  baby  you  talked  about  in  that 
letter,"  she  announced,  handing  Mrs.  Brady  the  letter 
she  had  written  nearly  eighteen  years  before. 

The  woman  took  the  envelope  gingerly  in  the  wet  thumb 
and  finger  that  still  grasped  a  bit  of  the  gingham  apron. 
She  held  it  at  arm's  length,  and  squinted  up  her  eyes, 
trying  to  read  it  without  her  glasses.  It  was  some  new 
kind  of  beggar,  of  course.  She  hated  to  touch  these  dirty 
envelopes,  and  this  one  looked  old  and  worn.  She  stepped 
back  to  the  parlor  table  where  her  glasses  were  lying,  and, 
adjusting  them,  began  to  read  the  letter. 

''For  the  land  sakes!  Where 'd  you  find  this?"  she 
said,  looking  up  suspiciously.  ''It's  against  the  law  to 
open  letters  that  ain't  your  own.  Didn't  me  daughter 
ever  get  it?  I  wrote  it  to  her  meself.  How  come  you 
by  it?" 

"Mother  read  it  to  me  long  ago  when  I  was  little/' 


124  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

answered  the  girl,  the  slow  hope  fading  from  her  lips  as 
she  spoke.  Was  every  one,  was  even  her  grandmother, 
going  to  be  cold  and  harsh  with  her?  "Our  Father,  hide 
me!"  her  heart  murmured,  because  it  had  become  a 
habit;  and  her  listening  thought  caught  the  answer,  "Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled." 

"Well,  who  are  you?"  said  the  uncordial  grandmother, 
still  puzzed.  "You  ain't  Bessie,  me  Bessie.  Fer  one 
thing,  you're  'bout  as  young  as  she  was  when  she  went 
off  'n'  got  married,  against  me  'dvice,  to  that  drunken, 
lazy  dude."  Her  brow  was  lowering,  and  she  proceeded 
to  finish  her  letter. 

"I  am  Elizabeth,"  said  the  girl  with  a  trembling  voice, 
"the  baby  you  talked  about  in  that  letter.  But  please 
don't  call  father  that.  He  wasn't  ever  bad  to  us.  He 
was  always  good  to  mother,  even  when  he  was  drunk. 
If  you  talk  like  that  about  him,  I  shall  have  to  go 
away." 

"  Fer  the  land  sakes!  You  don't  say,"  said  Mrs.  Brady, 
sitting  down  hard  in  astonishment  on  the  biscuit  uphol- 
stery of  her  best  parlor  chair.  "Now  you  ain't  Bessie's 
child!  Well,  I  am  clear  beat.  And  growed  up  so  big! 
You  look  strong,  but  you're  kind  of  thin.  What  makes 
your  skin  so  black?  Your  ma  never  was  dark,  ner  your 
pa,  neither." 

"I've  been  riding  a  long  way  in  the  wind  and  sun  and 
rain." 

"Fer  the  land  sakes!"  as  she  looked  through  the  win- 
dow to  the  street.     "Not  on  a  horse?" 

"Yes." 

"H'm!  What  was  your  ma  thinkin'  about  to  let  you 
do  that?" 

"My  mother  is  dead.     There  was  no  one  left  to  care 


PHILADELPHIA   AT   LAST  125 

what  I  did.  I  had  to  come.  There  were  dreadful  people 
out  there,  and  I  was  afraid." 

''Fer  the  land  sakes!"  That  seemed  the  only  remark 
that  the  capable  Mrs.  Brady  could  make.  She  looked  at 
her  new  granddaughter  in  bewilderment,  as  if  a  strange 
sort  of  creature  had  suddenly  laid  claim  to  relation- 
ship. 

''Well,  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  stiffly,  wip- 
ing her  hand  again  on  her  apron  and  putting  it  out  for- 
mally for  a  greeting. 

Elizabeth  accepted  her  reception  gravely,  and  sat 
down.  She  sat  down  suddenly,  as  if  her  strength  had 
given  way  and  a  great  strain  was  at  an  end.  As  she  sat 
down,  she  drooped  her  head  back  against  the  wall;  and  a 
gray  look  spread  about  her  lips. 

"You're  tired,"  said  the  grandmother,  energetically. 
*'Come  far  this  morning?" 

"No,"  said  Elizabeth,  weakly,  "not  many  miles;  but  I 
hadn't  any  more  bread.  I  used  it  all  up  yesterday,  and 
there  wasn't  much  money  left.  I  thought  I  could  wait 
till  I  got  here,  but  I  guess  I'm  hungry." 

"Fer  the  land  sakes!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Brady  as  she 
hustled  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  clattered  the  frying-pan 
onto  the  stove,  shoving  the  boiler  hastily  aside.  She 
came  in  presently  with  a  steaming  cup  of  tea,  and  made 
the  girl  drink  it  hot  and  strong.  Then  she  established 
her  in  the  big  rocking-chair  in  the  kitchen  with  a  plate  of 
appetizing  things  to  eat,  and  went  on  with  her  washing, 
punctuating  every  rub  with  a  question, 

Elizabeth  felt  better  after  her  meal,  and  offered  to  help, 
but  the  grandmother  would  not  hear  to  her  lifting  a 
finger. 

"You  naust  rest  first,"  she  suid.     "It  beats  me  how 


126  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

you  ever  got  here.  I'd  sooner  crawl  on  me  hands  and 
knees  than  ride  a  great,  scary  horse." 

Elizabeth  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"The  horse!"  she  said.  "Poor  fellow!  He  needs 
something  to  eat  worse  than  I  did.  He  hasn't  had  a  bite 
of  grass  all  this  morning.  There  was  nothing  but  hard 
roads  and  pavements.  The  grass  is  all  brown,  anyway, 
now.  I  found  .some  cornstalks  by  the  road,  and  once  a 
man  dropped  a  big  bundle  of  hay  out  of  his  load.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  Robin,  I'd  never  have  got  here;  and  here 
I've  sat  enjoying  my  breakfast,  and  Robin  out  there 
hungry!" 

"Fer  the  land  sakes!"  said  the  grandmother,  taking  her 
arms  out  of  the  suds  and  looked  troubled.  "Poor  fellow! 
What  would  he  like?  I  haven't  got  any  hay,  but  there's 
some  mashed  potatoes  left,  and  what  is  there?  Why, 
there's  some  excelsior  the  lamp-shade  come  packed  in. 
You  don't  suppose  he'd  think  it  was  hay,  do  you?  No,  I 
guess  it  wouldn't  taste  very  good." 

"Where  can  I  put  him,  grandmother?" 

"Fer  the  land  sakes!  I  don't  know,"  said  the  grand- 
mother, looking  around  the  room  in  alarm,  "  We  haven't 
any  place  fer  horses.  Perhaps  you  might  get  him  into 
the  back  yard  fer  a  while  till  we  think  what  to  do.  There's 
a  stable,  but  they  charge  high  to  board  horses.  Lizzie 
knows  one  of  the  fellers  that  works  there.  Mebbe  he'll 
tell  us  what  to  do.  Anyway,  you  lead  him  round  to  the 
alleyway,  and  we'll  see  if  we  can't  get  him  in  the  little 
ash-gate.  You  don't  suppose  he'd  try  to  get  in  the 
house,  do  you?  I  shouldn't  like  him  to  come  in  the 
kitchen  when  I  was  getting  supper." 

"O  no!"  said  EHzabeth.  "He's  very  good.  Where 
is  the  back  yard?'* 


PHILADELPHIA   AT   LAST  127 

This  arrangement  was  finally  made,  and  the  two  women 
stood  in  the  kitchen  door,  watching  Robin  drink  a  bucket- 
ful of  water  and  eat  heartily  of  the  various  viands  that 
Mrs.  Brady  set  forth  for  him,  with  the  exception  of  the 
excelsior,  which  he  snuffed  at  in  disgust. 

^'Now,  ain't  he  smart?"  said  Mrs.  Brady,  watching 
fearfully  from  the  door-step,  where  she  might  retreat  if 
the  animal  showed  any  tendency  to  step  nearer  to  the 
kitchen.  ''But  don't  you  think  he's  cold?  Wouldn't  he 
like  a  —  a  —  shawl  or  something?" 

The  girl  drew  the  old  coat  from  her  shoulders,  and  threw 
it  over  him,  her  grandmother  watching  her  fearless 
handling  of  the  horse  with  pride  and  awe. 

''We're  used  to  sharing  this  together,"  said  the  girl 
simply. 

"Nan  sews  in  an  up-town  dressmaker's  place,"  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Brady  by  and  by,  when  the  wash  was  hung 
out  in  fearsome  proximity  to  the  weary  horse's  heels, 
and  the  two  had  returned  to  the  warm  kitchen  to  clean 
up  and  get  supper.  "Nan's  your  ma's  sister,  you  know, 
older'n  her  by  two  year;  and  Lizzie,  that's  her  girl,  she's 
about  's  old  's  you.  She's  got  a  good  place  in  the  ten- 
cent  store.  Nan's  husband  died  four  years  ago,  and  her 
and  me've  been  livin'  together  ever  since.  It'll  be  nice 
fer  you  and  Lizzie  to  be  together.  She'll  make  it  lively 
fer  you  right  away.  Prob'ly  she  can  get  you  a  place  at 
the  same  store.  She'll  be  here  at  half  past  six  to-night. 
This  is  her  week  to  get  out  early." 

The  aunt  came  in  first.  She  was  a  tall,  thin  woman 
with  faded  brown  hair  and  a  faint  resemblance  to  Eliza- 
beth's mother.  Her  shoulders  stooped  slightly,  and  her 
voice  was  nasal.  Her  mouth  looked  as  if  it  was  used  to 
holding  pins  in  one  corner  and  gossiping  out  of  the  other. 


128  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

She  was  one  of  the  kind  who  always  get  into  a  rocking- 
chair  to  sew  if  they  can,  and  rock  as  they  sew.  Never- 
theless, she  was  skilful  in  her  way,  and  commanded  good 
wages.  She  welcomed  the  new  niece  reluctantly,  more 
excited  over  her  remarkable  appearance  among  her 
relatives  after  so  long  a  silence  than  pleased,  Elizabeth 
felt.  But  after  she  had  satisfied  her  curiosity  she  was 
kind,  beginning  to  talk  about  Lizzie,  and  mentally  com- 
pared this  thin,  brown  girl  with  rough  hair  and  dowdy 
clothes  to  her  own  stylish  daughter.  Then  Lizzie  burst  in. 
They  could  hear  her  calling  to  a  young  man  who  had 
walked  home  with  her,  even  before  she  entered  the  house. 

''It's  just  fierce  out,  ma!"  she  exclaimed.  ''Grandma, 
ain't  supper  ready  yet?  I  never  was  so  hungry  in  all  my 
life.     I  could  eat  a  house  afire." 

She  stopped  short  at  sight  of  Elizabeth.  She  had  been 
chewing  gum  —  Lizzie  was  always  chewing  gum  —  but 
her  jaws  ceased  action  in  sheer  astonishment. 

"This  is  your  cousin  Bessie,  come  all  the  way  from 
Montana  on  horseback,  Lizzie.  She's  your  aunt  Bessie's 
child.  Her  folks  is  dead  now,  and  she's  come  to  live 
with  us.  You  must  see  ef  you  can't  get  her  a  place  in 
the  ten-cent  store  'long  with  you,"  said  the  grandmother. 

Lizzie  came  airily  forward,  and  grasped  her  cousin's 
hand  in  mid-air,  giving  it  a  lateral  shake  that  bewildered 
Elizabeth. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,"  she  chattered  glibly,  and  set 
her  jaws  to  work  again.  One  could  not  embarrass  Lizzie 
long.  But  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  stranger,  and  let 
them  wander  disapprovingly  over  her  apparel  in  a  pointed 
way  as  she  took  out  the  long  hat-pins  from  the  cumber- 
some hat  she  wore  and  adjusted  her  ponderous  pompa- 
dour. 


PHILADELPHIA    AT   LAST  129 

"Lizzie  '11  have  to  help  fix  you  up,"  said  the  aunt, 
noting  Lizzie's  glance.  ''You're  all  out  of  style.  I  sup- 
pose they  get  behind  times  out  in  Montana.  Lizzie, 
can't  you  show  her  how  to  fix  her  hair  pompadour?" 

Lizzie  brightened.  If  there  was  a  prospect  of  changing 
things,  she  was  not  averse  to  a  cousin  of  her  own  age; 
but  she  never  could  take  such  a  dowdy-looking  girl  into 
society,  not  the  society  of  the  ten-cent  store. 

''O,  cert!"  answered  Lizzie  affably.  ''I'll  fix  you  fine. 
Don't  you  worry.  How'd  you  get  so  awful  tanned?  I 
s'pose  riding.  You  look  like  you'd  been  to  the  seashore, 
and  lay  out  on  the  beach  in  the  sun.  But  'tain't  the  right 
time  o'  year  quite.     It  must  be  great  to  ride  horseback!" 

"I'll  teach  you  how  if  you  want  to  learn,"  said  Eliza- 
beth, endeavoring  to  show  a  return  of  the  kindly  offer. 

"Me?  What  would  I  ride?  Have  to  ride  a  counter, 
I  guess.  I  guess  you  won't  find  much  to  ride  here  in  the 
city,  'cept  trolley-cars." 

"Bessie's  got  a  horse.  He's  out  in  the  yard  now,"  said 
the  grandmother  with  pride. 

"A  horse!  All  your  own?  Gee  whiz!  Won't  the 
girls  stare  when  I  tell  them?  Say,  we  can  borrow  a  rig 
at  the  livery  some  night,  and  take  a  ride.  Dan'll  go 
with  us,  and  get  the  rig  for  us.     Won't  that  be  great?" 

Elizabeth  smiled.  She  felt  the  glow  of  at  last  contribut- 
ing something  to  the  family  pleasure.  She  did  not  wish 
her  coming  to  be  so  entirely  a  wet  blanket  as  it  had 
seemed  at  first;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  had  seen  blank 
dismay  on  the  face  of  each  separate  relative  as  her  identity 
had  been  made  known.  Her  heart  was  lonely,  and  she 
hungered  for  some  one  who  "belonged"  and  loved 
her. 

Supper  was  put  on  the  table,  and  the  two  girls  began 


130  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

to  get  a  little  acquainted,  chattering  over  clothes  and  the 
arrangement  of  hair. 

"Do  you  know  whether  there  is  anything  in  Phila- 
delphia called  'Christian  Endeavor'?'^  asked  Elizabeth 
after  the  supper-table  was  cleared  off. 

" O,  Chrishun  'deavor!  Yes,  I  used  t'  b'long,"  answered 
Lizzie.  She  had  removed  the  gum  from  her  mouth  while 
she  ate  her  supper,  but  now  it  was  busy  again  between 
sentences.  ''Yes,  we  have  one  down  to  our  church.  It 
was  real  interesting,  too;  but  I  got  mad  at  one  of  the 
members,  and  quit.  She  was  a  stuck-up  old  maid,  any- 
way. She  was  always  turning  round  and  scowling  at  us 
girls  if  we  just  whispered  the  least  little  bit,  or  smiled; 
and  one  night  she  was  leading  the  meeting,  and  Jim 
Forbes  got  in  a  corner  behind  a  post,  and  made  mouths 
at  her  behind  his  book.  He  looked  awful  funny.  It  was 
something  fierce  the  way  she  always  screwed  her  face  up 
when  she  sang,  and  he  looked  just  like  her.  We  girls, 
Hetty  and  Em'line  and  I,  got  to  laughing,  and  we  just 
couldn't  stop;  and  didn't  that  old  thing  stop  the  singing 
after  one  verse,  and  look  right  at  us,  and  say  she  thought 
Christian  Endeavor  members  should  remember  whose 
house  they  were  in,  and  that  the  owner  was  there,  and  all 
that  rot.  I  nearly  died,  I  was  so  mad.  Everybody 
looked  around,  and  we  girls  choked,  and  got  up  and  went 
out.  I  haven't  been  down  since.  The  lookout  com- 
mittee came  to  see  us  'bout  it;  but  I  said  I  wouldn't  go 
back  where  I'd  been  insulted,  and  I've  never  been  inside 
the  doors  since.  But  she's  moved  away  now.  I  would'nt 
mind  going  back  if  you  want  to  go." 

"  Whose  house  did  she  mean  it  was?    Was  it  her  house?  " 

*'0,  no,  it  wasn't  her  house,"  laughed  Lizzie.  "It  was 
the  church.     She  meant  it  was  God's  house,  I  s'pose,  but 


PHILADELPHIA   AT   LAST  131 

she  needn't  have  been  so  pernickety.  We  weren't  doing 
any  harm." 

*'Does  God  have  a  house?" 

"Why,  yes;  didn't  you  know  that?  Why,  you  talk 
hke  a  heathen,  Bessie.  Didn't  you  have  churches  in 
Montana?" 

"Yes,  there  was  a  church  fifty  miles  away.  I  heard 
about  it  once,  but  I  never  saw  it,"  answered  Elizabeth. 
"But  what  did  the  woman  mean?  Who  did  she  say  was 
there?  God?  Was  God  in  the  church?  Did  you  see 
Him,  and  know  He  was  there  when  you  laughed?" 

"O,  you  silly!"  giggled  Lizzie.  "Wouldn't  the  girls 
laugh  at  you,  though,  if  they  could  hear  you  talk?  Why, 
of  course  God  was  there.  He's  everywhere,  you  know," 
with  superior  knowledge;  "but  I  didn't  see  Him.  You 
can't  see  God." 

"Why  not?" 

"Why,  because  you  can't!"  answered  her  cousin  with 
final  logic.  "Say,  haven't  you  got  any  other  clothes  with 
you  at  all?  I'd  take  you  down  with  me  in  the  morning 
if  you  was  fixed  up." 


CHAPTER  XI 


IN   FLIGHT  AGAIN 


When  Elizabeth  lay  down  to  rest  that  night,  with 
Lizzie  still  chattering  by  her  side,  she  found  that  there 
was  one  source  of  intense  pleasure  in  anticipation,  and 
that  was  the  prospect  of  going  to  God's  house  to  Christian 
Endeavor.  Now  perhaps  she  would  be  able  to  find  out 
what  it  all  had  meant,  and  whether  it  were  true  that  God 
took  care  of  people  and  hid  them  in  time  of  trouble. 
She  felt  almost  certain  in  her  own  little  experience  that 
He  had  cared  for  her,  and  she  wanted  to  be  quite  sure, 
so  that  she  might  grasp  this  precious  truth  to  her  heart 
and  keep  it  forever.  No  one  could  be  quite  alone  in  the 
world  if  there  was  a  God  who  cared  and  loved  and  hid. 

The  aunt  and  the  grandmother  were  up  betimes  the 
next  morning,  looking  over  some  meagre  stores  of  old 
clothing,  and  there  was  found  an  old  dress  which  it  was 
thought  could  be  furbished  over  for  Ehzabeth.  They 
were  hard-working  people  with  little  money  to  spare,  and 
everything  had  to  be  utilized;  but  they  made  a  great 
deal  of  appearance,  and  Lizzie  was  proud  as  a  young 
peacock.  She  would  not  take  Elizabeth  to  the  store  to 
face  the  head  man  without  having  her  fixed  up  according 
to  the  most  approved  style. 

So  the  aunt  cut  and  fitted  before  she  went  off  for  the 
day,  and  Elizabeth  was  ordered  to  sew  while  she  was  gone. 
The  grandmother  presided  at  the  rattling  old  sewing- 
machine,  and  in  two  or  three  days  Elizabeth  was  pro- 

132 


IN   FLIGHT   AGAIN  133 

nounced  to  be  fixed  up  enough  to  do  for  the  present  till 
she  could  earn  some  new  clothes.  With  her  fine  hair 
snarled  into  a  cushion  and  puffed  out  into  an  enormous 
pompadour  that  did  not  suit  her  face  in  the  least,  and 
wth  an  old  hat  and  jacket  of  Lizzie's  which  did  not  be- 
come her  nor  fit  her  exactly,  she  started  out  to  make  her 
way  in  the  world  as  a  saleswoman.  Lizzie  had  already 
secured  her  a  place  if  she  suited. 

The  store  was  a  maze  of  wonder  to  the  girl  from  the 
mountains  —  so  many  bright,  bewildering  things,  ribbons 
and  tin  pans,  glassware  and  toys,  cheap  jewelry  and 
candies.  She  looked  about  with  the  dazed  eyes  of  a 
creature  from  another  world. 

But  the  manager  looked  upon  her  with  eyes  of  favor. 
He  saw  that  her  eyes  were  bright  and  keen.  He  was 
used  to  judging  faces.  He  saw  that  she  was  as  yet  un- 
spoiled, with  a  face  of  refinement  far  beyond  the  general 
run  of  the  girls  who  applied  to  him  for  positions.  And 
he  was  not  beyond  a  friendly  flirtation  with  a  pretty  new 
girl  himself;  so  she  was  engaged  at  once,  and  put  on  duty 
at  the  notion-counter. 

The  girls  flocked  around  her  during  the  intervals  of 
custom.  Lizzie  had  told  of  her  cousin's  long  ride,  em- 
bellished, wherever  her  knowledge  failed,  by  her  ex- 
tremely wild  notions  of  Western  life.  She  had  told  how 
Elizabeth  arrived  wearing  a  belt  with  two  pistols,  and 
this  gave  Elizabeth  standing  at  once  among  all  the  people 
in  the  store.  A  girl  who  could  shoot,  and  who  wore 
pistols  in  a  belt  like  a  real  cowboy,  had  a  social  distinc- 
tion all  her  own. 

The  novel-reading,  theatre-going  girls  rallied  around 
her  to  a  girl;  and  the  young  men  in  the  store  were  not  far 
behind.     Elizabeth  was  popular  from  the  first.     More- 


134  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

over,  as  she  settled  down  into  the  routine  of  life,  and  had 
three  meals  every  day,  her  cheeks  began  to  round  out 
just  a  little;  and  it  became  apparent  that  she  was  un- 
usually beautiful  in  spite  of  her  dark  skin,  which  whitened 
gradually  under  the  electric  light  and  high-pressure  life 
of  the  store. 

They  went  to  Christian  Endeavor,  Elizabeth  and  her 
cousin;  and  Elizabeth  felt  as  if  heaven  had  suddenly 
dropped  down  about  her.  She  lived  from  week  to  week  for 
that  Christian  Endeavor. 

The  store,  which  had  been  a  surprise  and  a  novelty  at 
first,  began  to  be  a  trial  to  her.  It  wore  upon  her  nerves. 
The  air  was  bad,  and  the  crowds  were  great.  It  was 
coming  on  toward  Christmas  time,  and  the  store  was 
crammed  to  bursting  day  after  day  and  night  after  night, 
for  they  kept  open  evenings  now  until  Christmas.  Eliza- 
beth longed  for  a  breath  from  the  mountains,  and  grew 
whiter  and  thinner.  Sometimes  she  felt  as  if  she  must 
break  away  from  it  all,  and  take  Robin,  and  ride  into  the 
wilderness  again.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Christian  En- 
deavor, she  would  have  done  so,  perhaps. 

Robin,  poor  beast,  was  well  housed  and  well  fed;  but 
he  worked  for  his  living  as  did  his  mistress.  He  was  a 
grocer's  delivery  horse,  worked  from  Monday  morning 
early  till  Saturday  night  at  ten  o'clock,  subject  to  curses 
and  kicks  from  the  grocery  boy,  expected  to  stand  meekly 
at  the  curbstones,  snuffing  the  dusty  brick  pavements 
while  the  boy  delivered  a  box  of  goods,  and  while  trolleys 
and  beer-wagons  and  automobiles  slammed  and  rumbled 
and  tooted  by  him,  and  then  to  start  on  the  double-quick 
to  the  next  stopping-place. 

He  to  be  thus  under  the  rod  who  had  trod  the  plains 
with  a  free  foot  and  snuffed  the  mountain  air!     It  was  a 


IN   FLIGHT   AGAIN  135 

great  come-down,  and  his  life  became  a  weariness  to  him. 
But  he  earned  his  mistress  a  dollar  a  week  besides  his 
board.  There  would  have  been  some  consolation  in  that 
to  his  faithful  heart  if  he  only  could  have  known  it. 
Albeit  she  would  have  gladly  gone  without  the  dollar  if 
Robin  could  have  been  free  and  happy. 

One  day,  one  dreadful  day,  the  manager  of  the  ten- 
cent  store  came  to  Elizabeth  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  that 
reminded  her  of  the  man  in  Montana  from  whom  she 
had  fled.  He  was  smiling,  and  his  words  were  unduly 
pleasant.  He  wanted  her  to  go  w^ith  him  to  the  theatre 
that  evening,  and  he  complimented  her  on  her  appear- 
ance. He  stated  that  he  admired  her  exceedingly,  and 
wanted  to  give  her  pleasure.  But  somehow  Elizabeth 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  ever  since  she  left  the  prairies 
of  comparing  all  men  with  George  Trescott  Benedict; 
and  this  man,  although  he  dressed  well,  and  was  every  bit 
as  handsome,  did  not  compare  well.  There  was  a  sinister, 
selfish  glitter  in  his  eyes  that  made  Elizabeth  think  of  the 
serpent  on  the  plain  just  before  she  shot  it.  Therefore 
Elizabeth  declined  the  invitation. 

It  happened  that  there  was  a  missionary  meeting  at 
the  church  that  evening.  All  the  Christian  Endeavorers 
had  been  urged  to  attend.  Elizabeth  gave  this  as  an 
excuse;  but  the  manager  quickly  swept  that  away,  saying 
she  could  go  to  church  any  night,  but  she  could  not  go 
to  this  particular  play  with  him  always.  The  girl  eyed 
him  calmly  with  much  the  same  attitude  with  which  she 
might  have  pointed  her  pistol  at  his  head,  and  said 
gravely, 

''But  I  do  not  want  to  go  with  you." 

After  that  the  manager  hated  her.  He  always  hated 
girls  who  resisted  him.     He  hated  her,  and  wanted  to  do 


136  THE   GIKL   FROM   MONTANA 

her  harm.  But  he  fairly  persecuted  her  to  receive  his 
attentions.  He  was  a  young  fellow,  extremely  young  to 
be  occupying  so  responsible  a  position.  He  undoubtedly 
had  business  ability.  He  showed  it  in  his  management 
of  Elizabeth.  The  girl's  life  became  a  torment  to  her. 
In  proportion  as  she  appeared  to  be  the  manager's  favor- 
ite the  other  girls  became  jealous  of  her.  They  taunted 
her  with  the  manager's  attentions  on  every  possible 
occasion.  When  they  found  anything  wrong,  they 
charged  it  upon  her;  and  so  she  was  kept  constantly 
going  to  the  manager,  which  was  perhaps  just  what  he 
wanted. 

She  grew  paler  and  paler,  and  more  and  more  des- 
perate. She  had  run  away  from  one  man;  she  had  run 
away  from  a  woman;  but  here  w^as  a  man  from  whom 
she  could  not  run  away  unless  she  gave  up  her  position. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  her  grandmother,  she  would  have 
done  so  at  once;  but,  if  she  gave  up  her  position,  she 
would  be  thrown  upon  her  grandmother  for  support,  and 
that  must  not  be.  She  understood  from  the  family  talk 
that  they  were  having  just  as  much  as  they  could  do 
already  to  make  both  ends  meet  and  keep  the  all-import- 
ant god  of  Fashion  satisfied.  This  god  of  Fashion  had 
come  to  seem  to  Elizabeth  an  enemy  of  the  living  God. 
It  semed  to  occupy  all  people's  thoughts,  and  everything 
else  had  to  be  sacrificed  to  meet  its  demands. 

She  had  broached  the  subject  of  school  one  evening 
soon  after  she  arrived,  but  was  completely  squelched  by 
her  aunt  and  cousin. 

"You're  too  old!"  sneered  Lizzie.  ''School  is  for 
children." 

"Lizzie  went  through  grammar  school,  and  we  talked 
about  high  for  her,"  said  the  grandmother  proudly. 


IN  FLIGHT  AGAIN  137 

"But  I  just  hated  school/^ grinned  Lizzie.  ''It  ain't  so 
nice  as  it's  cracked  up  to  be.  Just  sit  and  study  all  day 
long.  Why,  they  were  always  keeping  me  after  school  for 
talking  or  laughing.  I  was  glad  enough  when  I  got  through. 
You  may  thank  your  stars  you  didn't  have  to  go,  Bess." 

"People  who  have  to  earn  their  bread  can't  lie  around 
and  go  to  school,"  remarked  Aunt  Nan  dryly,  and  Eliza- 
beth said  no  more. 

But  later  she  heard  of  a  night-school,  and  then  she  took 
up  the  subject  once  more.  Lizzie  scoffed  at  this.  She 
said  night-school  was  only  for  very  poor  people,  and  it  was 
a  sort  of  disgrace  to  go.  But  Elizabeth  stuck  to  her 
point,  until  one  day  Lizzie  came  home  with  a  tale  about 
Temple  College.  She  had  heard  it  was  very  cheap.  You 
could  go  for  ten  cents  a  night,  or  something  like  that. 
Things  that  were  ten  cents  appealed  to  her.  She  was 
used  to  bargain-counters. 

She  heard  it  was  quite  respectable  to  go  there,  and 
they  had  classes  in  the  evening.  You  could  study 
gymnastics,  and  it  would  make  you  graceful.  She  wanted 
to  be  graceful.  And  she  heard  they  had  a  course  in 
millinery.  If  it  was  so,  she  believed  she  would  go  herself, 
and  learn  to  make  the  new  kind  of  bows  they  were  hav- 
ing on  hats  this  winter.  She  could  not  seem  to  get  the 
right  twist  to  the  ribbon. 

Elizabeth  wanted  to  study  geography.  At  least,  that 
was  the  study  Lizzie  said  would  tell  her  where  the  Desert 
of  Sahara  was.  She  wanted  to  know  things,  all  kinds  of 
things;  but  Lizzie  said  such  things  were  only  for  children, 
and  she  didn't  believe  they  taught  such  baby  studies  in 
a  college.  But  she  would  inquire.  It  was  silly  of  Bessie 
to  want  to  know,  she  thought,  and  she  was  half  ashamed 
to  ask.     But  she  would  find  out. 


138  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Elizabeth^s  life  at  the  store 
grew  intolerable. 

One  morning  —  it  was  little  more  than  a  week  before 
Christmas  —  Elizabeth  had  been  sent  to  the  cellar  to  get 
seven  little  red  tin  pails  and  shovels  for  a  woman  who 
wanted  them  for  Christmas  gifts  for  some  Sunday-school 
class.  She  had  just  counted  out  the  requisite  number 
and  turned  to  go  up-stairs  when  she  heard  some  one  step 
near  her,  and,  as  she  looked  up  in  the  dim  light,  there 
stood  the  manager. 

"At  last  I've  got  you  alone,  Bessie,  my  dear! "  He  said 
it  with  suave  triumph  in  his  tones.  He  caught  Elizabeth 
by  the  wrists,  and  before  she  could  wrench  herself  away 
he  had  kissed  her. 

With  a  scream  Elizabeth  dropped  the  seven  tin  pails 
and  the  seven  tin  shovels,  and  with  one  mighty  wrench 
took  her  hands  from  his  grasp.  Instinctively  her  hand 
went  to  her  belt,  where  were  now  no  pistols.  If  one  had 
been  there  she  certainly  would  have  shot  him  in  her 
horror  and  fury.  But,  as  she  had  no  other  weapon,  she 
seized  a  little  shovel,  and  struck  him  in  the  face.  Then 
with  the  frenzy  of  the  desert  back  upon  her  she  rushed 
up  the  stairs,  out  through  the  crowded  store,  and  into  the 
street,  hatless  and  coatless  in  the  cold  December  air. 
The  passers-by  made  way  for  her,  thinking  she  had  been 
sent  out  on  some  hurried  errand. 

She  had  left  her  pocketbook,  with  its  pitifully  few 
nickels  for  car-fare  and  lunch,  in  the  cloak-room  with 
her  coat  and  hat.  But  she  did  not  stop  to  think  of  that. 
She  was  fleeing  again,  this  time  on  foot,  from  a  man. 
She  half  expected  he  might  pursue  her,  and  make  her 
come  back  to  the  hated  work  in  the  stifling  store  with  his 
wicked  face  moving  everywhere  above  the  crowds.     But 


IN   FLIGHT  AGAIN  139 

she  turned  not  to  look  back.  On  over  the  slushy  pave- 
ments, under  the  leaden  sky,  with  a  few  busy  flakes 
floating  about  her. 

The  day  seemed  pitiless  as  the  world.  Where  could 
she  go  and  what  should  she  do?  There  seemed  no  refuge 
for  her  in  the  wide  world.  Instinctively  she  felt  her 
grandmother  would  feel  that  a  calamity  had  befallen 
them  in  losing  the  patronage  of  the  manager  of  the  ten- 
cent  store.  Perhaps  Lizzie  would  get  into  trouble. 
What  should  she  do? 

She  had  reached  the  corner  where  she  and  Lizzie  usually 
took  the  car  for  home.  The  car  was  coming  now;  but  she 
had  no  hat  nor  coat,  and  no  money  to  pay  for  a  ride. 
She  must  walk.  She  paused  not,  but  fled  on  in  a  steady 
run,  for  which  her  years  on  the  mountain  had  given  her 
breath.  Three  miles  it  was  to  Flora  Street,  and  she 
scarcely  slackened  her  pace  after  she  had  settled  into 
that  steady  half-run,  half-walk.  Only  at  the  corner  of 
Flora  Street  she  paused,  and  allowed  herself  to  glance 
back  once.  No,  the  manager  had  not  pursued  her.  She 
was  safe.  She  might  go  in  and  tell  her  grandmother  with- 
out fearing  he  would  come  behind  her  as  soon  as  her 
back  was  turned. 


CHAPTER  XII 


Mrs.  Brady  was  at  the  wash-tub  again  when  her  most 
uncommon  and  unexpected  grandchild  burst  into  the 
room. 

She  wiped  her  hands  on  her  apron,  and  sat  down  with 
her  usual  exclamation,  "Fer  the  land  sakes!  What's 
happened?  Bessie,  tell  me  quick.  Is  anjiihing  the 
matter  with  Lizzie?     Where  is  she?'' 

But  Elizabeth  was  on  the  floor  at  her  feet  in  tears. 
She  was  shaking  with  sobs,  and  could  scarcely  manage 
to  stammer  out  that  Lizzie  was  all  right.  Mrs.  Brady 
settled  back  with  a  relieved  sigh.  Lizzie  was  the  first 
grandchild,  and  therefore  the  idol  of  her  heart.  If  Lizzie 
was  all  right,  she  could  afford  to  be  patient  and  find  out 
by  degrees. 

''It's  that  awful  man,  grandmother! "  Elizabeth  sobbed 
out. 

''What  man?  That  feller  in  Montana  you  run  away 
from?"  The  grandmother  sat  up  with  snapping  eyes. 
She  was  not  afraid  of  a  man,  even  if  he  did  shoot  people. 
She  would  call  in  the  police  and  protect  her  own  flesh 
and  blood.  Let  him  come.  Mrs.  Brady  was  ready  for 
him. 

"No,  no,  grandmother,  the  man-man-manager  at  the 
ten-cent  store,"  sobbed  the  girl;  "he  kissed  me!  Oh!" 
and  she  shuddered  as  if  the  memory  was  the  most  terrible 
thing  that  ever  came  to  her. 

140 


Elizabeth's  declaration  of  independence    141 

'Ter  the  land  sakes!  Is  that  all?''  said  the  woman 
with  much  relief  and  a  degree  of  satisfaction.  "Why, 
that's  nothing.  You  ought  to  be  proud.  Many  a  girl 
would  go  boasting  round  about  that.  What  are  you 
crying  for?  He  didn't  hurt  you,  did  he?  Why,  Lizzie 
seems  to  think  he's  fine.  I  tell  you  Lizzie  wouldn't  cry 
if  he  was  to  kiss  her,  I'm  sure.  She'd  just  laugh,  and 
ask  him  fer  a  holiday.  Here,  sit  up,  child,  and  wash  your 
face,  and  go  back  to  your  work.  You've  evidently  struck 
the  manager  on  the  right  side,  and  you're  bound  to  get  a 
rise  in  your  wages.  Every  girl  he  takes  a  notion  to  gets 
up  and  does  well.  Perhaps  you'll  get  money  enough  to 
go  to  school.  Goodness  knows  what  you  want  to  go  for. 
I  s'pose  it's  in  the  blood,  though  Bess  used  to  say  your  pa 
wa'n't  any  great  at  study.  But,  if  you've  struck  the 
manager  the  right  way,  no  telling  what  he  might  do.  He 
might  even  want  to  marry  you." 

''Grandmother!" 

Mrs.  Brady  was  favored  with  the  flashing  of  the  Bailey 
eyes.  She  viewed  it  in  astonishment  not  unmixed  with 
admiration. 

"Well,  you  certainly  have  got  spirit,"  she  ejaculated. 
"I  don't  wonder  he  liked  you.  I  didn't  know  you  was 
so  pretty,  Bessie;  you  look  like  your  mother  when  she 
was  eighteen;  you  really  do.  I  never  saw  the  resem- 
blance before.  I  believe  you'll  get  on  all  right.  Don't 
you  be  afraid.  I  wish  you  had  your  chance  if  you're  so 
anxious  to  go  to  school.  I  shouldn't  wonder  ef  you'd 
turn  out  to  be  something  and  marry  rich.  Well,  I  must 
be  getting  back  to  me  tub.  Land  sakes,  but  you  did  give 
me  a  turn.  I  thought  Lizzie  had  been  run  over.  I 
couldn't  think  what  else'd  make  you  run  off  way  here 
without  your  coat.     Come,  get  up,  child,  and  go  back 


142  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

to  your  work.  It's  too  bad  you  don't  like  to  be  kissed, 
but  don't  let  that  worry  you.  You'll  have  lots  worse 
than  that  to  come  up  against.  When  you've  lived  as 
long  as  I  have  and  worked  as  hard,  you'll  be  pleased  to 
have  some  one  admire  you.  You  better  wash  your  face, 
and  eat  a  bite  of  lunch,  and  hustle  back.  You  needn't 
be  afraid.  If  he's  fond  of  you,  he  won't  bother  about 
your  running  away  a  little.  He'll  excuse  you  ef  'tis  busy 
times,  and  not  dock  your  pay  neither." 

"Grandmother!"  said  EUzabeth.  ''Don't!  I  can 
never  go  back  to  that  awful  place  and  that  man.  I  would 
rather  go  back  to  Montana.     I  would  rather  be  dead." 

"Hoity-toity!"  said  the  easy-going  grandmother,  sit- 
ting down  to  her  task,  for  she  perceived  some  wholesome 
discipline  was  necessary.  "You  can't  talk  that  way, 
Bess.  You  got  to  go  to  your  work.  We  ain't  got  money 
to  keep  you  in  idleness,  and  land  knows  where  you'd  get 
another  place  as  good's  this  one.  Ef  you  stay  home  all 
day,  you  might  make  him  awful  mad;  and  then  it  would 
be  no  use  goin'  back,  and  you  might  lose  Lizzie  her  place 
too." 

But,  though  the  grandmother  talked  and  argued  and 
soothed  by  turns,  Elizabeth  was  firm.  She  would  not  go 
back.  She  would  never  go  back.  She  would  go  to  Mon- 
tana if  her  grandmother  said  any  more  about  it. 

With  a  sigh  at  last  Mrs.  Brady  gave  up.  She  had  given 
up  once  before  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  Bessie,  her  oldest 
daughter,  had  a  will  like  that,  and  tastes  far  above  her 
station.     Mrs.  Brady  wondered  where  she  got  them. 

"You're  fer  all  the  world  like  yer  ma,"  she  said  as  she 
thumped  the  clothes  in  the  wash-tub.  "  She  was  jest  that 
way,  when  she  would  marry  your  pa.  She  could  'a'  had 
Jim  Stokes,  the  groceryndan,  er  Lodge,  the  milkman,  er 


ELIZABETH'S   DECLARATION  OP  INDEPENDENCE      143 

her  choice  of  three  railroad  men,  all  of  'em  doing  well,  and 
ready  to  let  her  walk  over  'em;  but  she  would  have  your 
pa,  the  drunken,  good-for-nothing,  slippery  dude.  The 
only  thing  I'm  surprised  at  was  that  he  ever  married  her. 
I  never  expected  it.  I  s'posed  they'd  run  off,  and  he'd 
leave  her  when  he  got  tired  of  her;  but  it  seems  he  stuck 
to  her.  It's  the  only  good  thing  he  ever  done,  and  I'm 
not  sure  but  she'd  'a'  been  better  off  ef  he  hadn't  'a'  done 
that." 

''Grandmother!"     Elizabeth's  face  blazed. 

''Yes,  gran' motherl"  snapped  Mrs.  Brady.  "It's  all 
true,  and  you  might's  well  face  it.  He  met  her  in  church. 
She  used  to  go  reg'lar.  Some  boys  used  to  come  and  set 
in  the  back  seat  behind  the  girls,  and  then  go  home  with 
them.  They  was  all  nice  enough  boys  'cept  him.  I 
never  had  a  bit  a  use  fer  him.  He  belonged  to  the  swells 
and  the  stuck-ups;  and  he  knowed  it,  and  presumed  upon 
it.  He  jest  thought  he  could  wind  Bessie  round  his  finger, 
and  he  did.  If  he  said,  'Go,'  she  went,  no  matter  what 
I'd  do.  So,  when  his  ma  found  it  out,  she  was  hoppin* 
mad.  She  jest  came  driving  round  here  to  me  house,  and 
presumed  to  talk  to  me.  She  said  Bessie  was  a  designing 
snip,  and  a  bad  girl,  and  a  whole  lot  of  things.  Said  she 
was  leading  her  son  astray,  and  would  come  to  no  good 
end,  and  a  whole  lot  of  stuff;  and  told  me  to  look  after 
her.  It  wasn't  so.  Bess  got  John  Bailey  to  quit  smok- 
ing fer  a  whole  week  at  a  time,  and  he  said  if  she'd  marry 
him  he'd  quit  drinking  too.  His  ma  couldn't  'a'  got  him 
to  promise  that.  She  wouldn't  even  believe  he  got 
drunk.  I  told  her  a  few  things  about  her  precious  son, 
but  she  curled  her  fine,  aristocratic  lip  up,  and  said, 
'Gentlemen  never  get  drunk.'  Humph!  Gentlemen! 
That's  all  she  knowed  about  it.     He  got  drunk  all  right. 


144  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

and  stayed  drunk,  too.  So  after  that,  when  I  tried  to 
keep  Bess  at  home,  she  sUpped  away  one  night;  said  she 
was  going  to  church;  and  she  did  too;  went  to  the  minis- 
ter's study  in  a  strange  church,  and  got  married,  her  and 
John;  and  then  they  up  and  off  West.  John,  he'd  sold 
his  watch  and  his  fine  diamond  stud  his  ma  had  give  him; 
and  he  borrowed  some  money  from  some  friends  of  his 
father's,  and  he  off  with  three  hundred  dollars  and  Bess; 
and  that's  all  I  ever  saw  more  of  me  Bessie." 

The  poor  woman  sat  down  in  her  chair,  and  wept  into 
her  apron  regardless  for  once  of  the  soap-suds  that  rolled 
down  her  red,  wet  arms. 

''Is  my  grandmother  living  yet?"  asked  Elizabeth. 
She  was  sorry  for  this  grandmother,  but  did  not  know 
what  to  say.  She  was  afraid  to  comfort  her  lest  she  take 
it  for  yielding. 

''Yes,  they  say  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Brady,  sitting  up 
with  a  show  of  interest.  She  was  always  ready  for  a  bit 
of  gossip.  "Her  husband's  dead,  and  her  other  son's 
dead,  and  she's  all  alone.  She  lives  in  a  big  house  on 
Rittenhouse  Square.  If  she  was  any  'count,  she'd  ought 
to  provide  fer  you.  I  never  thought  about  it.  But  I 
don't  suppose  it  would  be  any  use  to  try.  You  might 
ask  her.  Perhaps  she'd  help  you  go  to  school.  You've 
got  a  claim  on  her.  She  ought  to  give  you  her  son's  share 
of  his  father's  property,  though  I've  heard  she  disowned 
him  when  he  married  our  Bess.  You  might  fix  up  in 
some  of  Lizzie's  best  things,  and  go  up  there  and  try. 
She  might  give  you  some  money." 

"I  don't  want  her  money,"  said  Elizabeth  stiffly.  "I 
guess  there's  work  somewhere  in  the  world  I  can  do  with- 
out begging  even  of  grandmothers.  But  I  think  I  ought 
to  go  and  see  her.     She  might  want  to  know  about  father." 


Elizabeth's  declaration  of  independence     145 

Mrs.  Brady  looked  at  her  granddaughter  wonderingly. 
This  was  a  view  of  things  she  had  never  taken. 

"  Well,"  said  she  resignedly,  "  go  your  own  gait.  I  don't 
know  where  you'll  come  up  at.  All  I  say  is,  ef  you're 
going  through  the  world  with  such  high  and  mighty  fine 
notions,  you'll  have  a  hard  time.  You  can't  pick  out 
roses  and  cream  and  a  bed  of  down  every  day.  You  have 
to  put  up  with  life  as  you  find  it." 

Elizabeth  went  to  her  room,  the  room  she  shared  with 
Lizzie.  She  wanted  to  get  away  from  her  grandmother's 
disapproval.  It  lay  on  her  heart  like  lead.  Was  there 
no  refuge  in  the  world?  If  grandmothers  were  not 
refuges,  where  should  one  flee?  The  old  lady  in 
Chicago  had  understood;  why  had  not  Grandmother 
Brady? 

Then  came  the  sweet  old  words,  ''Let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled."  "In  the  time  of  trouble  he  shall  hide  me 
in  his  pavilion;  in  the  secret  of  his  tabernacle  shall  he 
hide  me."  She  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  said  "Our 
Father."  She  was  beginning  to  add  some  words  of  her 
own  now.  She  had  heard  them  pray  so  in  Christian 
Endeavor  in  the  sentence  prayers.  She  wished  she  knew 
more  about  God,  and  His  Book.  She  had  had  so  little 
time  to  ask  or  think  about  it.  Life  seemed  all  one  rush 
for  clothes  and  position. 

At  supper-time  Lizzie  came  home  much  excited.  She 
had  been  in  hot  water  all  the  afternoon.  The  girls  had 
said  at  lunch-time  that  the  manager  was  angry  with 
Bessie,  and  had  discharged  her.  She  found  her  coat  and 
hat,  and  had  brought  them  home.  The  pocketbook  was 
missing.  There  was  only  fifteen  cents  in  it;  but  Lizzie 
was  much  disturbed,  and  so  was  the  grandmother.  They 
had  a  quiet  consultation  in  the  kitchen;  and,  when  the 


146  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

aunt  came,  there  was  another  whispered  conversation 
among  the  three. 

EHzabeth  felt  disapproval  in  the  air.  Aunt  Nan  came, 
and  sat  down  beside  her,  and  talked  very  coldly  about 
expenses  and  being  dependent  upon  one's  relatives,  and 
let  her  understand  thoroughly  that  she  could  not  sit 
around  and  do  nothing;  but  Elizabeth  answered  by  tell- 
ing her  how  the  manager  had  been  treating  her.  The 
aunt  then  gave  her  a  dose  of  worldly  wisdom,  which  made 
the  girl  shrink  into  herself.  It  needed  only  Lizzie's  loud- 
voiced  exhortations  to  add  to  her  misery  and  make  her 
feel  ready  to  do  anything.  Supper  was  a  most  unpleasant 
meal.     At  last  the  grandmother  spoke  up. 

**Well,  Bessie,"  she  said  firmly,  ''we've  decided,  all  of 
us,  that,  if  you  are  going  to  be  stubborn  about  this,  some- 
thing will  have  to  be  done;  and  I  think  the  best  thing  is 
for  you  to  go  to  Mrs.  Bailey  and  see  what  she'll  do  for  you. 
It's  her  business,  anyway." 

Elizabeth's  cheeks  were  very  red.  She  said  nothing. 
She  let  them  go  on  with  the  arrangements.  Lizzie  went 
and  got  her  best  hat,  and  tried  it  on  Elizabeth  to  see 
how  she  would  look,  and  produced  a  silk  waist  from  her 
store  of  garments,  and  a  spring  jacket.  It  wasn't  very 
warm,  it  is  true;  but  Lizzie  explained  that  the  occasion 
demanded  strenuous  measures,  and  the  jacket  was  un- 
doubtedly stylish,  which  was  the  main  thing  to  be  con- 
sidered.    One  could  afford  to  be  cold  if  one  was  stylish. 

Lizzie  was  up  early  the  next  morning.  She  had  agreed 
to  put  Elizabeth  in  battle-array  for  her  visit  to  Ritten- 
house  Square.  Elizabeth  submitted  meekly  to  her  bor- 
rowed adornings.  Her  hair  was  brushed  over  her  face, 
and  curled  on  a  hot  iron,  and  brushed  backward  in  a  per- 
fect mat,  and  then  puffed  out  in  a  bigger  pompadour 


ELIZABETH^S   DECLARATION   OF   INDEPENDENCE      147 

than  usual.  The  silk  waist  was  put  on  with  Lizzie^s  best 
skirt,  and  she  was  adjured  not  to  let  that  drag.  Then 
the  best  hat  with  the  cheap  pink  plumes  was  set  atop  the 
elaborate  coiffure;  the  jacket  was  put  on;  and  a  pair  of 
Lizzie's  long  silk  gloves  were  struggled  into.  They  were 
a  trifle  large  when  on,  but  to  the  hands  unaccustomed  to 
gloves  they  were  like  being  run  into  a  mould. 

Elizabeth  stood  it  all  until  she  was  pronounced  com- 
plete. Then  she  came  and  stood  in  front  of  the  cheap 
little  glass,  and  surveyed  herself.  There  were  blisters  in 
the  glass  that  twisted  her  head  into  a  grotesque  shape. 
The  hairpins  stuck  into  her  head.  Lizzie  had  tied  a 
spotted  veil  tight  over  her  nose  and  eyes.  The  collar  of 
the  silk  waist  was  frayed,  and  cut  her  neck.  The  skirt- 
band  was  too  tight,  and  the  gloves  were  torture.  Eliza- 
beth turned  slowly,  and  went  down-stairs,  past  the 
admiring  aunt  and  grandmother,  who  exclaimed  at  the 
girl's  beauty,  now  that  she  was  attired  to  their  mind,  and 
encouraged  her  by  saying  they  were  sure  her  grandmother 
would  want  to  do  something  for  so  pretty  a  girl. 

Lizzie  called  out  to  her  not  to  worry,  as  she  flew  for  her 
car.  She  said  she  had  heard  there  was  a  variety  show  in 
town  where  they  wanted  a  girl  who  could  shoot.  If  she 
didn't  succeed  with  her  grandmother,  they  would  try  and 
get  her  in  at  the  show.  The  girls  at  the  store  knew  a 
man  who  had  charge  of  it.  They  said  he  liked  pretty 
girls,  and  they  thought  would  be  glad  to  get  her.  Indeed, 
Mary  James  had  promised  to  speak  to  him  last  night,  and 
would  let  her  know  to-day  about  it.  It  would  likely  be 
a  job  more  suited  to  her  cousin's  liking. 

Elizabeth  shuddered.  Another  man!  Would  he  be 
like  all  the  rest?  —  all  the  rest  save  one! 

She  walked  a  few  steps  in  the  direction  she  had  been 


148  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

told  to  go,  and  then  turned  resolutely  around,  and  came 
back.  The  watching  grandmother  felt  her  heart  sink. 
What  was  this  headstrong  girl  going  to  do  next?  Rebel 
again? 

^'What's  the  matter,  Bessie?"  she  asked,  meeting  her 
anxiously  at  the  door.  "It's  bad  luck  to  turn  back  when 
you've  started." 

"I  can't  go  this  way,"  said  the  girl  excitedly.  "It's 
all  a  cheat.  I'm  not  like  this.  It  isn't  mine,  and  I'm 
not  going  in  it.  I  must  have  my  own  clothes  and  be 
myself  when  I  go  to  see  her.  If  she  doesn't  like  me  and 
want  me,  then  I  can  take  Robin  and  go  back."  And  like 
another  David  burdened  with  Saul's  armor  she  came  back 
to  get  her  little  sling  and  stones. 

She  tore  off  the  veil,  and  the  sticky  gloves  from  her 
cold  hands,  and  all  the  finery  of  silk  waist  and  belt,  and 
donned  her  old  plain  blue  coat  and  skirt  in  which  she  had 
arrived  in  Philadelphia.  They  had  been  frugally  brushed 
and  sponged,  and  made  neat  for  a  working  dress.  Eliza- 
beth felt  that  they  belonged  to  her.  Under  the  jacket, 
which  fortunately  was  long  enough  to  hide  her  waist,  she 
buckled  her  belt  with  the  two  pistols.  Then  she  took 
the  battered  old  felt  hat  from  the  closet,  and  tried  to 
fasten  it  on;  but  the  pompadour  interfered.  Relentlessly 
she  pulled  down  the  work  of  art  that  Lizzie  had  created, 
and  brushed  and  combed  her  long,  thick  hair  into  sub- 
jection again,  and  put  it  in  its  long  braid  down  her  back. 
Her  grandmother  should  see  her  just  as  she  was.  She 
should  know  what  kind  of  a  girl  belonged  to  her.  Then, 
if  she  chose  to  be  a  real  grandmother,  well  and  good. 

Mrs.  Brady  was  much  disturbed  in  mind  when  Eliza- 
beth came  down-stairs.  She  exclaimed  in  horror,  and 
tired  to  force  the  girl  to  go  back,  telling  her  it  was  a  shame 


Elizabeth's  declaration  of  independence     149 

and  disgrace  to  go  in  such  garments  into  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  Rittenhouse  Square;  but  the  girl  was  not  to  be 
turned  back.  She  would  not  even  wait  till  her  aunt  and 
Lizzie  came  home.     She  would  go  now,  at  once. 

Mrs.  Brady  sat  down  in  her  rocking-chair  in  despair 
for  full  five  minutes  after  she  had  watched  the  reprehen- 
sible girl  go  down  the  street.  She  had  not  been  so  com- 
pletely beaten  since  the  day  when  her  own  Bessie  left  the 
house  and  went  away  to  a  wild  West  to  die  in  her  own 
time  and  way.  The  grandmother  shed  a  few  tears. 
This  girl  was  like  her  own  Bessie,  and  she  could  not  help 
loving  her,  though  there  was  a  streak  of  something  else 
about  her  that  made  her  seem  above  them  all;  and  that 
was  hard  to  bear.  It  must  be  the  Bailey  streak,  of  course. 
Mrs.  Brady  did  not  admire  the  Baileys,  but  she  was 
obliged  to  reverence  them. 

If  she  had  watched  or  followed  Elizabeth,  she  would 
have  been  still  more  horrified.  The  girl  went  straight 
to  the  corner  grocery,  and  demanded  her  own  horse, 
handing  back  to  the  man  the  dollar  he  had  paid  her  last 
Saturday  night,  and  saying  she  had  need  of  the  horse  at 
once.  After  some  parley,  in  which  she  showed  her  ability 
to  stand  her  own  ground,  the  boy  unhitched  the  horse 
from  the  wagon,  and  got  her  own  old  saddle  for  her  from 
the  stable.  Then  Elizabeth  mounted  her  horse  and  rode 
away  to  Rittenhouse  Square. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


ANOTHER    GRANDMOTHER 


Elizabeth's  idea  in  taking  the  horse  along  with  her 
was  to  have  all  her  armor  on,  as  a  warrior  goes  out  to 
meet  the  foe.  If  this  grandmother  proved  impossible, 
why,  then  so  long  as  she  had  life  and  breath  and  a  horse 
she  could  flee.  The  world  was  wide,  and  the  West  was 
still  open  to  her.  She  could  flee  back  to  the  wilderness 
that  gave  her  breath. 

The  old  horse  stopped  gravely  and  disappointedly 
before  the  tall,  aristocratic  house  in  Rittenhouse  Square. 
He  had  hoped  that  city  life  was  now  to  end,  and  that  he 
and  his  dear  mistress  were  to  travel  back  to  their  beloved 
prairies.  No  amount  of  oats  could  ever  make  up  to  him 
for  his  freedom,  and  the  quiet,  and  the  hills.  He  had  a 
feeling  that  he  should  like  to  go  back  home  and  die.  He 
had  seen  enough  of  the  world. 

She  fastened  the  halter  to  a  ring  in  the  sidewalk,  which 
surprised  him.  The  grocer's  boy  never  fastened  him. 
He  looked  up  questioningly  at  the  house,  but  saw  no 
reason  why  his  mistress  should  go  in  there.  It  was  not 
familiar  ground.  Koffee  and  Sons  never  came  up  this 
way. 

Elizabeth,  as  she  crossed  the  sidewalk  and  mounted 
the  steps  before  the  formidable  carved  doors,  felt  that 
here  was  the  last  hope  of  finding  an  earthly  habitation. 
If  this  failed  her,  then  there  was  the  desert,  and  starva- 
tion, and  a  long,  long  sleep.     But  while  the  echo  of  the 

150 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  151 

bell  still  sounded  through  the  high-ceiled  hall  there 
came  to  her  the  words:  ''Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled. 
...  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions;  if  it  were 
not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place 
for  you.  ...  I  will  come  again  and  receive  you.''  How 
sweet  that  was!  Then,  even  if  she  died  on  the  desert, 
there  was  a  home  prepared  for  her.  So  much  she  had 
learned  in  Christian  Endeavor  meeting. 

The  stately  butler  let  her  in.  He  eyed  her  question- 
ingly  at  first,  and  said  madam  was  not  up  yet;  but  Eliza- 
beth told  him  she  would  wait. 

"Is  she  sick?"  asked  Elizabeth  with  a  strange  constric- 
tion  about   her   heart. 

"0  no,  she  is  not  up  yet,  miss,"  said  the  kind  old 
butler;  ''she  never  gets  up  before  this.  You're  from 
Mrs.  Sands,  I  suppose."  Poor  soul,  for  once  his  butler 
eyes  had  been  mistaken.  He  thought  she  was  the  little 
errand-girl  from  Madam  Bailey's  modiste. 

"No,  I'm  just  Elizabeth,"  said  the  girl,  smiling.  She 
felt  that  this  man,  whoever  he  was,  was  not  against  her. 
He  was  old,  and  he  had  a  kind  look. 

He  still  thought  she  meant  she  was  not  the  modiste, 
just  her  errand-girl.  Her  quaint  dress  and  the  long 
braid  down  her  back  made  her  look  like  a  child. 

"I'll  tell  her  you've  come.  Be  seated,'^  said  the 
butler,  and  gave  her  a  chair  in  the  dim  hall  just  opposite 
the  parlor  door,  where  she  had  a  glimpse  of  elegance  such 
as  she  had  never  dreamed  existed.  She  tried  to  think 
how  it  must  be  to  live  in  such  a  room  and  walk  on  velvet. 
The  carpet  was  deep  and  rich.  She  did  not  know  it  was 
a  rug,  nor  that  it  was  woven  in  some  poor  peasant's  home 
and  then  was  brought  here  years  afterward  at  a  fabulous 
price.     She  only  knew  it  was  beautiful  in  its  silvery  sheen, 


152  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

with  gleaming  colors  through  it  like  jewels  in  the 
dew. 

On  through  another  open  doorway  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  painting  on  the  wall.  It  was  a  man  as  large  as  life, 
sitting  in  a  chair;  and  the  face  and  attitude  were  her 
father's  —  her  father  at  his  best.  She  was  fairly  startled. 
Who  was  it?  Could  it  be  her  father?  And  how  had  they 
made  this  picture  of  him?  He  must  be  changed  in  those 
twenty  years  he  had  been  gone  from  home. 

Then  the  butler  came  back,  and  before  he  could  speak 
she  pointed  toward  the  picture.     ''Who  is  it?"  she  asked. 

''That,  miss?  That's  Mr.  John,  Madam's  husband 
that's  dead  a  good  many  years  now.  But  I  remember 
him  well." 

"Could  I  look  at  it?  He  is  so  much  like  my  father." 
She  walked  rapidly  over  the  ancient  rug,  unheeding 
its  beauties,  while  the  wondering  butler  followed  a 
trifle  anxiously.  This  was  unprecedented.  Mrs.  Sands's 
errand-girls  usually  knew  their  place. 

"Madam  said  you  was  to  come  right  up  to  her  room," 
said  the  butler  pointedly.  But  Elizabeth  stood  rooted 
to  the  ground,  studying  the  picture.  The  butler  had  to 
repeat  the  message.  She  smiled  and  turned  to  follow 
him,  and  as  she  did  so  saw  on  a  side  wall  the  portraits  of 
two  boys. 

"Who  are  they?"  she  pointed  swiftly.  They  were 
much  like  her  own  two  brothers. 

"Them  are  Mr.  John  and  Mr.  James,  Madam's  two  sons. 
They's  both  of  them  dead  now,"  said  the  butler.  "At 
least,  Mr.  James  is,  I'm  sure.  He  died  two  years  ago. 
But  you  better  come  right  up.  Madam  will  be  wonder- 
ing." 

She  followed  the  old  man  up  the  velvet-shod  stairs 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  153 

that  gave  back  no  sound  from  footfall,  and  pondered  as 
she  went.  Then  that  was  her  father,  that  boy  with  the 
beautiful  face  and  the  heavy  wavy  hair  tossed  back 
from  his  forehead,  and  the  haughty,  imperious,  don't- 
care  look.  And  here  was  where  he  had  lived.  Here 
amid  all  this  luxury. 

Like  a  flash  came  the  quick  contrast  of  the  home  in 
which  he  had  died,  and  a  great  wave  of  reverence  for  her 
father  rolled  over  her.  From  such  a  home  and  such  sur- 
roundings it  would  not  have  been  strange  if  he  had 
grown  weary  of  the  rough  life  out  West,  and  deserted  his 
wife,  who  was  beneath  him  in  station.  But  he  had  not. 
He  had  stayed  by  her  all  the  years.  True,  he  had  not  been 
of  much  use  to  her,  and  much  of  the  time  had  been  but 
a  burden  and  anxiety;  but  he  had  stayed  and  loved  her  — 
when  he  was  sober.  She  forgave  him  his  many  trying 
ways,  his  faultfindings  with  her  mother's  many  little 
blunders  —  no  wonder,  when  he  came  from  this  place. 

The  butler  tapped  on  a  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  a  maid  swung  it  open. 

''Why,  you're  not  the  girl  Mrs.  Sands  sent  the  other 
day,"  said  a  querulous  voice  from  a  mass  of  lace-ruffled 
pillows  on  the  great  bed. 

''I  am  Elizabeth,"  said  the  girl,  as  if  that  were  full 
explanation. 

''Elizabeth?  Elizabeth  who?  I  don't  see  why  she 
sent  another  girl.  Are  you  sure  you  will  understand  the 
directions?  They're  very  particular,  for  I  want  my  frock 
ready  for  to-night  without  fail."  The  woman  sat  up, 
leaning  on  one  elbow.  Her  lace  nightgown  and  pale- 
blue  silk  dressing-sack  fell  away  from  a  round  white  arm 
that  did  not  look  as  if  it  belonged  to  a  very  old  lady. 
Her  gray  hair  was  becomingly  arranged,  and  she  was 


154  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

extremely  pretty,  with  small  features.  Elizabeth  looked 
and  marvelled.  Like  a  flash  came  the  vision  of  the  other 
grandmother  at  the  wash-tub.  The  contrast  was  start- 
ling. 

''I  am  Elizabeth  Bailey/^  said  the  girl  quietly,  as  if  she 
would  break  a  piece  of  hard  news  gently.  *'My  father 
was  your  son  John." 

''The  idea!''  said  the  new  grandmother,  and  promptly 
fell  back  upon  her  pillows  with  her  hand  upon  her  heart. 
''John,  John,  my  little  John.  No  one  has  mentioned 
his  name  to  me  for  years  and  years.  He  never  writes  to 
me."  She  put  up  a  lace-trimmed  handkerchief,  and 
sobbed. 

"Father  died  five  years  ago,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"You  wicked  girl!"  said  the  maid.  "Can't  you  see 
that  Madam  can't  bear  such  talk?  Go  right  out  of  the 
room!"  The  maid  rushed  up  with  smelling-salts  and  a 
glass  of  water,  and  Elizabeth  in  distress  came  and  stood 
by  the  bed. 

"I'm  sorry  I  made  you  feel  bad,  grandmother,"  she 
said  when  she  saw  that  the  fragile,  childish  creature  on 
the  bed  was  recovering  somewhat. 

"What  right  have  you  to  call  me  that?  Grandmother, 
indeed!  I'm  not  so  old  as  that.  Besides,  how  do  I  know 
you  belong  to  me?  If  John  is  dead,  your  mother  better 
look  after  you.  I'm  sure  I'm  not  responsible  for  you. 
It's  her  business.  She  wheedled  John  away  from  his 
home,  and  carried  him  off  to  that  awful  West,  and  never 
let  him  write  to  me.  She  has  done  it  all,  and  now  she 
may  bear  the  consequences.  I  suppose  she  has  sent  you 
here  to  beg,  but  she  has  made  a  mistake.  I  shall  not 
have  a  thing  to  do  with  her  or  her  children." 

"Grandmother!"    EHzabeth's  eyes  flashed  as  they  had 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  155 

done  to  the  other  grandmother  a  few  hours  before.  ''  You 
must  not  talk  so.  I  won't  hear  it.  I  wouldn't  let  Grand- 
mother Brady  talk  about  my  father,  and  you  can't  talk 
so  about  mother.  She  was  my  mother,  and  I  loved  her, 
and  so  did  father  love  her;  and  she  worked  hard  to  keep 
him  and  take  care  of  him  when  he  drank  years  and  years, 
and  didn't  have  any  money  to  help  her.  Mother  was 
only  eighteen  when  she  married  father,  and  you  ought  not 
to  blame  her.  She  didn't  have  a  nice  home  like  this. 
But  she  was  good  and  dear,  and  now  she  is  dead.  Father 
and  mother  are  both  dead,  and  all  the  other  children.  A 
man  killed  my  brother,  and  then  as  soon  as  he  was  buried 
he  came  and  wanted  me  to  go  with  him.  He  was  an  awful 
man,  and  I  was  afraid,  and  took  my  brother's  horse  and 
ran  away.  I  rode  all  this  long  way  because  I  was  afraid 
of  that  man,  and  I  wanted  to  get  to  some  of  my  own  folks, 
who  would  love  me,  and  let  me  work  for  them,  and  let 
me  go  to  school  and  learn  something.  But  I  wish  now  I 
had  stayed  out  there  and  died.  I  could  have  lain  down 
in  the  sage-brush,  and  a  wild  beast  would  have  killed  me 
perhaps,  and  that  would  be  a  great  deal  better  than  this; 
for  Grandmother  Brady  does  not  understand,  and  you 
do  not  want  me;  but  in  my  Father's  house  in  heaven 
there  are  many  mansions,  and  He  went  to  prepare  a  place 
for  me;  so  I  guess  I  will  go  back  to  the  desert,  and  per- 
haps He  will  send  for  me.     Good-by,  grandmother." 

Then  before  the  astonished  woman  in  the  bed  could 
recover  her  senses  from  this  remarkable  speech  Elizabeth 
turned  and  walked  majestically  from  the  room.  She 
was  slight  and  not  very  tall,  but  in  the  strength  of  her 
pride  and  purity  she  looked  almost  majestic  to  the  awe- 
struck maid  and  the  bewildered  woman. 


156  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

Down  the  stairs  walked  the  girl,  feeling  that  all  the  wide 
world  was  against  her.  She  would  never  again  try  to  get 
a  friend.  She  had  not  met  a  friend  except  in  the  desert. 
One  man  had  been  good  to  her,  and  she  had  let  him  go 
away;  but  he  belonged  to  another  woman,  and  she  might 
not  let  him  stay.  There  was  just  one  thing  to  be  thank- 
ful for.  She  had  knowledge  of  her  Father  in  heaven,  and 
she  knew  what  Christian  Endeavor  meant.  She  could 
take  that  with  her  out  into  the  desert,  and  no  one  could 
take  it  from  her.  One  wish  she  had,  but  maybe  that  was 
too  much  to  hope  for.  If  she  could  have  had  a  Bible  of 
her  own!  She  had  no  money  left.  Nothing  but  her 
mother's  wedding-ring,  the  papers,  and  the  envelope 
that  had  contained  the  money  the  man  had  given  her  when 
he  left.  She  could  not  part  with  them,  unless  perhaps 
some  one  would  take  the  ring  and  keep  it  until  she  could 
buy  it  back.     But  she  would  wait  and  hope. 

She  walked  by  the  old  butler  with  her  hand  on  her 
pistol.  She  did  not  intend  to  let  any  one  detain  her  now. 
He  bowed  pleasantly,  and  opened  the  door  for  her,  how- 
ever; and  she  marched  down  the  steps  to  her  horse.  But 
just  as  she  was  about  to  mount  and  ride  away  into  the 
unknown  where  no  grandmother,  be  she  Brady  or  Bailey, 
would  ever  be  able  to  search  her  out,  no  matter  how  hard 
she  tried,  the  door  suddenly  opened  again,  and  there  was 
a  great  commotion.  The  maid  and  the  old  butler  both 
flew  out,  and  laid  hands  upon  her.  She  dropped  the 
bridle,  and  seized  her  pistol,  covering  them  both  with 
its  black,  forbidding  nozzle. 

They  stopped,  trembling,  but  the  butler  bravely  stood 
his  ground.  He  did  not  know  why  he  was  to  detain  this 
extraordinary  young  person,  but  he  felt  sure  something 
was  wrong.     Probably  she  was  a  thief,  and  had  taken 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  157 

some  of  Madam's  jewels.  He  could  call  the  police. 
He  opened  his  mouth  to  do  so  when  the  maid  ex- 
plained. 

*' Madam  wants  you  to  come  back.  She  didn't  under- 
stand. She  wants  to  see  you  and  ask  about  her  son. 
You  must  come,  or  you  will  kill  her.  She  has  heart- 
trouble,  and  you  must  not  excite  her." 

Elizabeth  put  the  pistol  back  into  its  holster,  and, 
picking  up  the  bridle  again,  fastened  it  in  the  ring,  saying 
simply,  "I  will  come  back." 

''What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  abruptly  when  she 
returned  to  the  bedroom. 

''Don't  you  know  that's  a  disrespectful  way  to  speak?" 
asked  the  woman  querulously.  "What  did  you  have  to 
get  into  a  temper  for,  and  go  off  like  that  without  telling 
me  anything  about  my  son?  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"I'm  sorry,  grandmother,"  said  Elizabeth,  sitting 
down.     "I  thought  you  didn't  want  me  and  I  better  go." 

"Well,  the  next  time  wait  until  I  send  you.  What 
kind  of  a  thing  have  you  got  on,  anyway?  That's  a  queer 
sort  of  a  hat  for  a  girl  to  wear.  Take  it  off.  You  look 
like  a  rough  boy  with  that  on.  You  make  me  think  of 
John  when  he  had  been  out  disobeying  me." 

Elizabeth  took  off  the  offending  headgear,  and  revealed 
her  smoothly  parted,  thick  brown  hair  in  its  long  braid 
down  her  back. 

"Why,  you're  rather  a  pretty  girl  if  you  were  fixed  up," 
said  the  old  lady,  sitting  up  with  interest  now.  "I  can't 
remember  your  mother,  but  I  don't  think  she  had  fine 
features  like  that." 

"They  said  I  looked  like  father,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Did  they?     Well,  I  believe  it's  true,"  with  satisfac- 


158  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

tion.  ^'I  couldn't  bear  you  if  you  looked  like  those  low- 
down  '^ 

'' Grandmother! '^  Elizabeth  stood  up,  and  flashed  her 
Bailey  eyes. 

*' You  needn't  'grandmother'  me  all  the  time,"  said  the 
lady  petulantly.  ''But  you  look  quite  handsome  when 
you  say  it.  Take  off  that  ill-fitting  coat.  It  isn't  thick 
enough  for  winter,  anyway.  What  in  the  world  have 
you  got  round  your  waist?  A  belt?  Why,  that's  a 
man's  belt!  And  what  have  you  got  in  it?  Pistols? 
Horrors!  Marie,  take  them  away  quick!  I  shall  faint! 
I  never  could  bear  to  be  in  a  room  with  one.  My  husband 
used  to  have  one  on  his  closet  shelf,  and  I  never  went 
near  it,  and  always  locked  the  room  when  he  w^as  out. 
You  must  put  them  out  in  the  hall.  I  cannot  breathe 
where  pistols  are.  Now  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about 
it,  how  old  you  are,  and  how  you  got  here." 

Elizabeth  surrendered  her  pistols  with  hesitation. 
She  felt  that  she  must  obey  her  grandmother,  but  was  not 
altogether  certain  whether  it  was  safe  for  her  to  be  weapon- 
less until  she  was  sure  this  was  friendly  ground. 

At  the  demand  she  began  back  as  far  as  she  could 
remember,  and  told  the  story  of  her  life,  pathetically, 
simply,  without  a  single  claim  to  pity,  yet  so  earnestly 
and  vividly  that  the  grandmother,  lying  with  her  eyes 
closed,  forgot  herself  completely,  and  let  the  tears 
trickle  unbidden  and  unheeded  down  her  well-preserved 
cheeks. 

When  Elizabeth  came  to  the  graves  in  the  moonlight, 
she  gasped,  and  sobbed:  ''O,  Johnny,  Johnny,  my  Httle 
Johhny!  Why  did  you  always  be  such  a  bad,  bad  boy?" 
and  when  the  ride  in  the  desert  was  described,  and  the 
man  from  whom  she  fled,  the  grandmother  held   her 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  159 

breath,  and  said,  ''O,  how  fearful!"  Her  interest  in  the 
girl  was  growing,  and  kept  at  white  heat  during  the  whole 
of  the  story. 

There  was  one  part  of  her  experience,  however,  that 
Elizabeth  passed  over  lightly,  and  that  was  the  meeting 
with  George  Trescott  Benedict.  Instinctively  she  felt 
that  this  experience  would  not  find  a  sympathetic  listener. 
She  passed  it  over  by  merely  saying  that  she  had  met  a 
kind  gentleman  from  the  East  who  was  lost,  and  that 
they  had  ridden  together  for  a  few  miles  until  they 
reached  a  town;  and  he  had  telegraphed  to  his  friends, 
and  gone  on  his  way.  She  said  nothing  about  the  money 
he  had  lent  to  her,  for  she  shrank  from  speaking  about 
him  more  than  was  necessary.  She  felt  that  her  grand- 
mother might  feel  as  the  old  woman  of  the  ranch  had  felt 
about  their  travelling  together.  She  left  it  to  be  inferred 
that  she  might  have  had  a  little  money  with  her  from 
home.  At  least,  the  older  woman  asked  no  questions 
about  how  she  secured  provisions  for  the  way. 

When  Elizabeth  came  to  her  Chicago  experience,  her 
grandmother  clasped  her  hands  as  if  a  serpent  had  been 
mentioned,  and  said:  "How  degrading!  You  certainly 
would  have  been  justified  in  shooting  the  whole  company. 
I  wonder  such  places  are  allowed  to  exist!''  But  Marie 
sat  with  large  eyes  of  wonder,  and  retailed  the  story  over 
again  in  the  kitchen  afterwards  for  the  benefit  of  the  cook 
and  the  butler,  so  that  Elizabeth  became  henceforth  a 
heroine  among  them. 

Elizabeth  passed  on  to  her  Philadelphia  experience, 
and  found  that  here  her  grandmother  was  roused  to  blaz- 
ing indignation,  but  the  thing  that  roused  her  was  the  fact 
that  a  Bailey  should  serve  behind  a  counter  in  a  ten-cent 
store.     She  lifted  her  hands,  and  uttered  a  moan  of  real 


160  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

pain,  and  went  on  at  such  a  rate  that  the  smelling-salts 
had  to  be  brought  into  requisition  again. 

When  Elizabeth  told  of  her  encounter  with  the  manager 
in  the  cellar,  the  grandmother  said:  ''How  disgusting! 
The  impertinent  creature!  He  ought  to  be  sued.  I  will 
consult  the  lawyer  about  the  matter.  What  did  you  say 
his  name  was?  Marie,  write  that  down.  And  so,  dear, 
you  did  quite  right  to  come  to  me.  I've  been  looking  at 
you  while  you  talked,  and  I  believe  you'll  be  a  pretty  girl 
if  you  are  fixed  up.  Marie,  go  to  the  telephone,  and  call 
up  Blandeaux,  and  tell  him  to  send  up  a  hair-dresser  at 
once.  I  want  to  see  how  Miss  EHzabeth  will  look  with 
her  hair  done  low  in  one  of  those  new  coils.  I  believe  it 
will  be  becoming.  I  should  have  tried  it  long  ago  my- 
self; only  it  seems  a  trifle  too  youthful  for  hair  that  is 
beginning  to  turn  gray." 

Elizabeth  watched  her  grandmother  in  wonder.  Here 
truly  was  a  new  phase  of  woman.  She  did  not  care  about 
great  facts,  but  only  about  little  things.  Her  life  was 
made  up  of  the  great  pursuit  of  fashion,  just  Hke  Lizzie's. 
Were  people  in  cities  all  alike?  No,  for  he,  the  one  man 
she  had  met  in  the  wilderness,  had  not  seemed  to  care. 
Maybe,  though,  when  he  got  back  to  the  city  he  did  care. 
She  sighed  and  turned  toward  the  new  grandmother. 

"Now  I  have  told  you  everything,  grandmother. 
Shall  I  go  away?  I  wanted  to  go  to  school;  but  I  see  that 
it  costs  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  a 
burden  on  any  one.  I  came  here,  not  to  ask  you  to  take 
me  in,  because  I  did  not  want  to  trouble  you;  but  I  thought 
before  I  went  away  I  ought  to  see  you  once  because  — 
because  you  are  my  grandmother." 

"I've  never  been  a  grandmother,"  said  the  little  woman 
of  the  world  reflectively,  "but  I  don't  know  but  it  would 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  161 

be  rather  nice.  Fd  like  to  make  you  into  a  pretty  girl, 
and  take  you  out  into  society.  That  would  be  something 
new  to  live  for.  I'm  not  very  pretty  myself  any  more, 
but  I  can  see  that  you  will  be.  Do  you  wear  blue  or  pink? 
I  used  to  wear  pink  myself,  but  I  believe  you  could  wear 
either  when  you  get  your  complexion  in  shape.  YouVe 
tanned  it  horribly,  but  it  may  come  out  all  right.  I  think 
you'll  take.  You  say  you  want  to  go  to  school.  Why, 
certainly,  I  suppose  that  will  be  necessary;  living  out  in 
that  barbarous,  uncivilized  region,  of  course  you  don't 
know  much.  You  seem  to  speak  correctly,  but  John 
always  was  particular  about  his  speech.  He  had  a  tutor 
when  he  was  little  who  tripped  him  up  every  mistake  he 
made.  That  was  the  only  thing  that  tutor  was  good  for; 
he  was  a  linguist.  We  found  out  afterwards  he  was 
terribly  wild,  and  drank.  He  did  John  more  harm  than 
good.  Marie,  I  shall  want  Elizabeth  to  have  the  rooms 
next  mine.  Ring  for  Martha  to  see  that  everything  is  in 
order.  Elizabeth,  did  you  ever  have  your  hands  mani- 
cured? You  have  a  pretty-shaped  hand.  I'll  have  the 
woman  attend  to  it  when  she  comes  to  shampoo  your 
hair  and  put  it  up.  Did  you  bring  any  clothes  along? 
Of  course  not.  You  couldn't  on  horseback.  I  suppose 
you  had  your  trunk  sent  by  express.  No  trunk?  No 
express?  No  railroad?  How  barbarous!  How  John 
must  have  suffered,  poor  fellow!  He,  so  used  to  every 
luxury!  Well,  I  don't  see  that  it  was  my  fault.  I 
gave  him  everything  he  wanted  except  his  wife,  and 
he  took  her  without  my  leave.  Poor  fellow,  poor  fel- 
low!'' 

Mrs.  Bailey  in  due  time  sent  Elizabeth  off  to  the  suite  of 
rooms  that  she  said  were  to  be  hers  exclusively,  and  arose 
to  bedeck  herself  for  another  day.     Elizabeth  was  a  new 


162  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

toy,  and  she  anticipated  playing  with  her.  It  put  new 
zest  into  a  life  that  had  grown  monotonous. 

Elizabeth,  meanwhile,  was  surveying  her  quarters,  and 
wondering  what  Lizzie  would  think  if  she  could  see  her. 
According  to  orders,  the  coachman  had  taken  Robin  to 
the  stable,  and  he  was  already  rolling  in  all  the  luxuries 
of  a  horse  of  the  aristocracy,  and  congratulating  himself 
on  the  good  taste  of  his  mistress  to  select  such  a  stopping- 
place.  For  his  part  he  was  now  satisfied  not  to  move 
further.  This  was  better  than  the  wilderness  any  day. 
Oats  like  these,  and  hay  such  as  this,  were  not  to  be 
found  on  the  plains. 

Toward  evening  the  grave  butler,  with  many  a  depre- 
catory glance  at  the  neighborhood,  arrived  at  the  door 
of  Mrs.  Brady,  and  delivered  himself  of  the  following 
message  to  that  astonished  lady,  backed  by  her  daughter 
and  her  granddaughter,  with  their  ears  stretched  to  the 
utmost  to  hear  every  syllable: 

''Mrs.  Merrill  Wilton  Bailey  sends  word  that  her  grand- 
daughter, Miss  Elizabeth,  has  reached  her  home  safely, 
and  will  remain  with  her.  Miss  Elizabeth  will  come 
sometime  to  see  Mrs.  Brady,  and  thank  her  for  her  kind- 
ness during  her  stay  with  her." 

The  butler  bowed,  and  turned  away  with  rehef.  His 
dignity  and  social  standing  had  not  been  so  taxed  by  the 
family  demands  in  years.  He  was  glad  he  might  shake 
off  the  dust  of  Flora  Street  forever.  He  felt  for  the 
coachman.  He  would  probably  have  to  drive  the  young 
lady  down  here  sometime,  according  to  that  message. 

Mrs.  Brady,  her  daughter,  and  Lizzie  stuck  their  heads 
out  into  the  lamplighted  street,  and  watched  the  dignified 
butler  out  of  sight.  Then  they  went  in  and  sat  down  in 
three  separate  stages  of  relief  and  astonishment. 


ANOTHER   GRANDMOTHER  163 

"Fer  the  land  sakes!"  ejaculated  the  grandmother. 
*'Well,  now,  if  that  don't  beat  all! "then  after  a  minute: 
''The  impertinent  fellow!  And  the  impidence  of  the 
woman!  Thank  me  fer  my  kindness  to  me  own  grand- 
child! I'd  thank  her  to  mind  her  business,  but  then 
that's  just  like  her." 

''Her  nest  is  certainly  well  feathered,"  said  Aunt  Nan 
enviously.     "I  only  wish  Lizzie  had  such  a  chance." 

Said  Lizzie:  "It's  awful  queer,  her  looking  like  that, 
too,  in  that  crazy  rig!  Well,  I'm  glad  she's  gone,  fer  she 
was  so  awful  queer  it  was  jest  fierce.  She  talked  religion 
a  lot  to  the  girls,  and  then  they  laughed  at  her  behind 
her  back;  and  they  kep'  a  telling  me  I'd  be  a  missionary 
'fore  long  if  she  stayed  with  us.  I  went  to  Mr.  Wray,  the 
manager,  and  told  him  my  cousin  was  awfully  shy,  and 
she  sent  word  she  wanted  to  be  excused  fer  running  away 
like  that.  He  kind  of  colored  up,  and  said  'twas  all  right, 
and  she  might  come  back  and  have  her  old  place  if  she 
wanted,  and  he'd  say  no  more  about  it.  I  told  him  I'd 
tell  her.  But  I  guess  her  acting  up  won't  do  me  a  bit  of 
harm.  The  girls  say  he'll  make  up  to  me  now.  Wish  he 
would.  I'd  have  a  fine  time.  It's  me  turn  to  have  me 
wages  raised,  anyway.  He  said  if  Bess  and  I  would  come 
to-morrow  ready  to  stay  in  the  evening,  he'd  take  us  to  a 
show  that  beat  everything  he  ever  saw  in  Philadelphia. 
I  mean  to  make  him  take  me,  anyway.  I'm  just  glad  she's 
out  of  the  way.     She  wasn't  like  the  rest  of  us." 

Said  Mrs.  Brady:  "It's  the  Bailey  in  her.  But  she  said 
she'd  come  back  and  see  me,  didn't  she?"  and  the  grand- 
mother in  her  meditated  over  that  fact  for  several  minutes. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN   A  NEW   WORLD 


Meantime  the  panorama  of  Elizabeth ^s  Hfe  passed  on 
into  more  peaceful  scenes.  By  means  of  the  telephone 
and  the  maid  a  lot  of  new  and  beautiful  garments  were 
provided  for  her,  which  fitted  perfectly,  and  which  be- 
wildered her  not  a  Httle  until  they  were  explained  by 
Marie.  Elizabeth  had  her  meals  up-stairs  until  these 
things  had  arrived  and  she  had  put  them  on.  The  texture 
of  the  garments  was  fine  and  soft,  and  they  were  rich 
with  embroidery  and  lace.  The  flannels  were  as  soft 
as  the  down  in  a  milkweed  pod,  and  everything  was  of 
the  best.  Elizabeth  found  herself  wishing  she  might 
share  them  with  Lizzie, — Lizzie  who  adored  rich  and 
beautiful  things,  and  who  had  shared  her  meagre  outfit 
with  her.  She  mentioned  this  wistfully  to  her  grand- 
mother, and  in  a  fit  of  childish  generosity  that  lady  said: 
''Certainly,  get  her  what  you  wish.  I'll  take  you  down- 
town some  day,  and  you  can  pick  out  some  nice  things 
for  them  all.     I  hate  to  be  under  obligations." 

A  dozen  ready-made  dresses  had  been  sent  out  before 
the  first  afternoon  was  over,  and  Elizabeth  spent  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  trying  on  and  walking  back  and  forth  in 
front  of  her  grandmother.  At  last  two  or  three  were 
selected  which  it  was  thought  would  ''do'*  until  the 
dressmaker  could  be  called  in  to  help,  and  EUzabeth  was 
clothed  and  allowed  to  come  down  into  the  life  of  the 
household. 

164 


IN   A    NEW   WORLD  165 

It  was  not  a  large  household.  It  consisted  of  the  grand- 
mother, her  dog,  and  the  servants.  EHzabeth  fitted  into 
it  better  than  she  had  feared.  It  seemed  pleasanter  to 
her  than  the  house  on  Flora  Street.  There  was  more 
room,  and  more  air,  and  more  quiet.  With  her  mountain 
breeding  she  could  not  get  her  breath  in  a  crowd. 

She  was  presently  taken  in  a  luxurious  carriage,  drawn 
by  two  beautiful  horses,  to  a  large  department  store, 
where  she  sat  by  the  hour  and  watched  her  grandmother 
choose  things  for  her.  Another  girl  might  have  gone  half 
wild  over  the  delightful  experience  of  being  able  to  have 
anything  in  the  shops.  Not  so  Elizabeth.  She  watched 
it  all  apathetically,  as  if  the  goods  displayed  about  had 
been  the  leaves  upon  the  trees  set  forth  for  her  admiration. 
She  could  wear  but  one  dress  at  once,  and  one  hat.  Why 
were  so  many  necessary?  Her  main  hope  lay  in  the 
words  her  grandmother  had  spoken  about  sending  her 
to  school. 

The  third  day  of  her  stay  in  Rittenhouse  Square, 
Elizabeth  had  reminded  her  of  it,  and  the  grandmother 
had  said  half  impatiently:  ''Yes,  yes,  child;  you  shall  go 
of  course  to  a  finishing  school.  That  will  be  necessary. 
But  first  I  must  get  you  fixed  up.  You  have  scarcely 
anything  to  put  on.''     So  Elizabeth  subsided. 

At  last  there  dawned  a  beautiful  Sabbath  when,  the 
wardrobe  seemingly  complete,  Elizabeth  was  told  to 
array  herself  for  church,  as  they  were  going  that  morning. 
With  great  delight  and  thanksgiving  she  put  on  what  she 
was  told;  and,  when  she  looked  into  the  great  French  plate 
mirror  after  Marie  had  put  on  the  finishing  touches,  she 
was  astonished  at  herself.  It  was  all  true,  after  all.  She 
was  a  pretty  girl. 

She  looked  down  at  the  beautiful  gown  of  finest  broad- 


166  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

cloth,  with  the  exquisite  finish  that  only  the  best  tailors 
can  put  on  a  garment,  and  wondered  at  herself.  The 
very  folds  of  dark-green  cloth  seemed  to  bring  a  grace 
into  her  movements.  The  green  velvet  hat  with  its  long 
curling  plumes  of  green  and  cream-color  seemed  to  be 
resting  lovingly  above  the  beautiful  hair  that  was  arranged 
so  naturally  and  becomingly. 

Elizabeth  wore  her  lovely  ermine  collar  and  muff  with- 
out ever  knowing  they  were  costly.  They  all  seemed  so 
fitting  and  quiet  and  simple,  so  much  less  obtrusive 
than  Lizzie's  pink  silk  waist  and  cheap  pink  plumes. 
Elizabeth  liked  it,  and  walked  to  church  beside  her 
grandmother  with  a  happy  feeling  in  her  heart. 

The  church  was  just  across  the  Square.  Its  tall  brown 
stone  spire  and  arched  doorways  attracted  Elizabeth 
when  she  first  came  to  the  place.  Now  she  entered  with 
a  kind  of  delight. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  to  a  Sabbath 
morning  regular  service  in  church.  The  Christian  En- 
deavor had  been  as  much  as  Lizzie  had  been  able  to 
stand.  She  said  she  had  to  work  too  hard  during  the 
week  to  waste  so  much  time  on  Sunday  in  church.  ''The 
Sabbath  was  made  for  man"  and  ''for  rest,"  she  had 
quoted  glibly.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  since  she 
left  Montana  Elizabeth  felt  as  if  she  had  a  real  home  and 
was  like  other  people.  She  looked  around  shyly  to  see 
whether  perchance  her  friend  of  the  desert  might  be  sit- 
ting near,  but  no  familiar  face  met  her  gaze.  Then  she 
settled  back,  and  gave  herself  up  to  delight  in  the  service. 

The  organ  was  playing  softly,  low,  tender  music.  She 
learned  afterward  that  the  music  was  Handel's  "Largo." 
She  did  not  know  that  the  organ  was  one  of  the  finest  in 
the  city,  nor  that  the  organist  was  one  of  the  most  skilful 


IN   A    NEW   WORLD  167 

to  be  had;  she  knew  only  that  the  music  seemed  to  take 
her  soul  and  lift  it  up  above  the  earth  so  that  heaven  was 
all  around  her,  and  the  very  clouds  seemed  singing  to  her. 
Then  came  the  processional,  with  the  wonderful  voices 
of  the  choir-boys  sounding  far  off,  and  then  nearer.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  any  one  who  had  been  accus- 
tomed all  his  life  to  these  things  to  know  how  it  affected 
Elizabeth. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  Lord  Himself  was  leading  the 
girl  in  a  very  special  way.  At  scarcely  any  other  church 
in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  great  city  would  Elizabeth 
haA^e  heard  preaching  so  exactly  suited  to  her  needs. 
The  minister  was  one  of  those  rare  men  who  lived  with 
God,  and  talked  with  Him  daily.  He  had  one  pecu- 
liarity which  marked  him  from  all  other  preachers, 
Elizabeth  heard  afterward.  He  would  turn  and  talk 
with  God  in  a  gentle,  sweet,  conversational  tone  right  in 
the  midst  of  his  sermon.  It  made  the  Lord  seem  very 
real  and  very  near. 

If  he  had  not  been  the  great  and  brilliant  preacher  of 
an  old  established  church,  and  revered  by  all  denomina- 
tions as  well  as  his  own,  the  minister  would  have  been 
called  eccentric  and  have  been  asked  to  resign,  because 
his  religion  was  so  very  personal  that  it  became  em- 
barrassing to  some.  However,  his  rare  gifts,  and  his 
remarkable  consecration  and  independence  in  doing 
what  he  thought  right,  had  produced  a  most  unusual 
church  for  a  fashionable  neighborhood. 

Most  of  his  church-members  were  in  sympathy  with 
him,  and  a  wonderful  work  was  going  fonvard  right  in 
the  heart  of  Sodom,  unhampered  by  fashion  or  form  or 
class  distinctions.  It  is  true  there  were  some  who,  like 
Madam  Bailey,  sat  calmly  in  their  seats,  and  let  the  min- 


168  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

ister  attend  to  the  preaching  end  of  the  service  without 
ever  bothering  their  thoughts  as  to  what  he  was  saying. 
It  was  all  one  to  them  whether  he  prayed  three  times  or 
once,  so  the  service  got  done  at  the  usual  hour.  But  the 
majority  were  being  led  to  see  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  close  and  intimate  walk  with  God  upon  this  earth. 

Into  this  church  came  Elizabeth,  the  sweet  heathen, 
eager  to  learn  all  that  could  be  learned  about  the  things 
of  the  soul.  She  sat  beside  her  grandmother,  and  drank 
in  the  sermon,  and  bowed  her  lovely,  reverent  head 
when  she  became  aware  that  God  was  in  the  room  and 
was  being  spoken  to  by  His  servant.  After  the  last  echo 
of  the  recessional  had  died  away,  and  the  bowed  hush  of 
the  congregation  had  grown  into  a  quiet,  well-bred  com- 
motion of  the  putting  on  of  wTaps  and  the  low  Sabbath 
greetings,  Elizabeth  turned  to  her  grandmother. 

''Grandmother,  may  I  please  go*  and  ask  that  man 
some  questions?  He  said  just  what  I  have  been  longing 
and  longing  to  know,  and  I  must  ask  him  more.  Nobody 
else  ever  told  me  these  things.  Who  is  he?  How  does 
he  know  it  is  all  true?'' 

The  elder  woman  watched  the  eager,  flushed  face  of 
the  girl;  and  her  heart  throbbed  with  pride  that  this 
beautiful  young  thing  belonged  to  her.  She  smiled  in- 
dulgently. 

''The  rector,  you  mean?  Why,  I'll  invite  him  to  dinner 
if  you  wish  to  talk  with  him.  It's  perfectly  proper  that 
a  young  girl  should  understand  about  religion.  It  has  a 
most  refining  influence,  and  the  Doctor  is  a  charming 
man.  I'll  invite  his  wife  and  daughter  too.  They  move 
in  the  best  circles,  and  I  have  been  meaning  to  ask  them 
for  a  long  time.  You  might  like  to  be  confirmed.  Some 
do.     It's  a  very  pretty  service.     I  was  confirmed  myself 


IN  A   NEW   WORLD  169 

when  I  was  about  your  age.  My  mother  thought  it  a 
good  thing  for  a  girl  before  she  went  into  society.  Now, 
just  as  you  are  a  schoolgirl,  is  the  proper  time.  I'll  send 
for  him  this  week.  He'll  be  pleased  to  know  you  are 
interested  in  these  things.  He  has  some  kind  of  a  young 
people's  club  that  meets  on  Sunday.  'Christian  Some- 
thing' he  calls  it;  I  don't  know  just  what,  but  he  talks  a 
great  deal  about  it,  and  wants  every  young  person  to 
join.  You  might  pay  the  dues,  whatever  they  are,  any- 
way. I  suppose  it's  for  charity.  It  wouldn't  be  neces- 
sary for  you  to  attend  the  meetings,  but  it  would  please 
the  Doctor." 

"Is  it  Christian  Endeavor?"  asked  EHzabeth,  with  her 
eyes  sparkling. 

"Something  like  that,  I  believe.  Good  morning, 
Mrs.  Schuyler.  Lovely  day,  isn't  it?  for  December.  No, 
I  haven't  been  very  well.  No,  I  haven't  been  out  for 
several  weeks.  Charming  service,  wasn't  it?  The  Doctor 
grows  more  and  more  brilliant,  I  think.  Mrs.  Schuyler, 
this  is  my  granddaughter,  Elizabeth.  She  has  just  come 
from  the  West  to  live  with  me  and  complete  her  educa- 
tion.    I  want  her  to  know  your  daughter." 

Elizabeth  passed  through  the  introduction  as  a  neces- 
sary interruption  to  her  train  of  thought.  As  soon  as 
they  were  out  upon  the  street  again  she  began. 

"Grandmother,  was  God  in  that  church?" 

"Dear  me,  child!  What  strange  questions  you  do  ask! 
Why,  yes,  I  suppose  He  was,  in  a  way.  God  is  every- 
where, they  say.  Elizabeth,  you  had  better  wait  until 
you  can  talk  these  things  over  with  a  person  whose  busi- 
ness it  is.  I  never  understood  much  about  such  ques- 
tions. You  look  very  nice  in  that  shade  of  green,  and 
your  hat  is  most  becoming." 


170  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

So  was  the  question  closed  for  the  time,  but  not  put 
out  of  the  girl's  thoughts. 

The  Christmas  time  had  come  and  passed  without 
much  notice  on  the  part  of  Elizabeth,  to  whom  it  was  an 
unfamiliar  festival.  Mrs.  Bailey  had  suggested  that  she 
select  some  gifts  for  her  ''relatives  on  her  mother's  side," 
as  she  always  spoke  of  the  Bradys;  and  Elizabeth  had 
done  so  with  alacrity,  showing  good  sense  and  good  taste 
in  her  choice  of  gifts,  as  well  as  deference  to  the  wishes  of 
the  one  to  whom  they  were  to  be  given.  Lizzie,  it  is 
true,  was  a  trifle  disappointed  that  her  present  was  not 
a  gold  watch  or  a  diamond  ring;  but  on  the  whole  she 
was  pleased. 

A  new  world  opened  before  the  feet  of  Elizabeth. 
School  was  filled  with  wonder  and  delight.  She  absorbed 
knowledge  like  a  sponge  in  the  water,  and  rushed  eagerly 
from  one  study  to  another,  showing  marvellous  aptitude, 
and  bringing  to  every  task  the  enthusiasm  of  a  pleasure- 
seeker. 

Her  growing  intimacy  with  Jesus  Christ  through  the 
influence  of  the  pastor  who  knew  Him  so  well  caused  her 
joy  in  life  to  blossom  into  loveliness. 

The  Bible  she  studied  with  the  zest  of  a  novel-reader, 
for  it  was  a  novel  to  her;  and  daily,  as  she  took  her  rides 
in  the  park  on  Robin,  now  groomed  into  self-respecting 
sleekness,  and  wearing  a  saddle  of  the  latest  approved 
style,  she  marvelled  over  God's  wonderful  goodness  to 
her,  just  a  maid  of  the  wilderness. 

So  passed  three  beautiful  years  in  peace  and  quietness. 
Every  month  Elizabeth  went  to  see  her  Grandmother 
Brady,  and  to  take  some  charming  little  gifts;  and  every 
summer  she  and  her  Grandmother  Bailey  spent  at  some 
of  the  fashionable  watering-places  or  in  the  Catskills, 


IN   A   NEW   WORLD  171 

the  girl  always  dressed  in  most  exquisite  taste,  and  as 
sweetly  indifferent  to  her  clothes  as  a  bird  of  the  air  or  a 
flower  of  the  field. 

The  first  pocket-money  she  had  been  given  she  saved 
up,  and  before  long  had  enough  to  send  the  forty  dollars 
to  the  address  the  man  in  the  wilderness  had  given  her. 
But  with  it  she  sent  no  word.  It  was  like  her  to  think 
she  had  no  right. 

She  went  out  more  and  more  with  her  grandmother 
among  the  fashionable  old  families  in  Philadelphia 
society,  though  as  yet  she  was  not  supposed  to  be  "out,'' 
being  still  in  school;  but  in  all  her  goings  she  neither  saw 
nor  heard  of  George  Trescott  Benedict. 

Often  she  looked  about  upon  the  beautiful  women  that 
came  to  her  grandmother's  house,  who  smiled  and  talked 
to  her,  and  wondered  which  of  them  might  be  the  lady  to 
whom  his  heart  was  bound.  She  fancied  she  must  be 
most  sweet  and  lovely  in  every  way,  else  such  as  he  could 
not  care  for  her;  so  she  would  pick  out  this  one  and  that 
one;  and  then,  as  some  disagreeableness  or  glaring  fault 
would  appear,  she  would  drop  that  one  for  another. 
There  were  only  a  few,  after  all,  that  she  felt  were  good 
enough  for  the  man  who  had  become  her  ideal. 

But  sometimes  in  her  dreams  he  would  come  and  talk 
with  her,  and  smile  as  he  used  to  do  when  they  rode 
together;  and  he  would  lay  his  hand  on  the  mane  of  her 
horse  —  there  were  always  the  horses  in  her  dreams. 
She  liked  to  think  of  it  when  she  rode  in  the  park,  and  to 
think  how  pleasant  it  would  be  if  he  could  be  riding  there 
beside  her,  and  they  might  talk  of  a  great  many  things 
that  had  happened  since  he  left  her  alone.  She  felt  she 
would  like  to  tell  him  of  how  she  had  found  a  friend  in 
Jesus  Christ.     He  would  be  glad  to  know  about  it,  she 


172  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

was  sure.  He  seemed  to  be  one  who  was  interested  in 
such  things,  not  like  other  people  who  were  all  engaged 
in  the  world. 

Sometimes  she  felt  afraid  something  had  happened  to 
him.  He  might  have  been  thrown  from  that  terrible 
train  and  killed,  perhaps;  and  no  one  know  anything 
about  it.  But  as  her  experience  grew  wider,  and  she 
travelled  on  the  trains  herself,  of  course  this  fear  grew  less. 
She  came  to  understand  that  the  world  was  wide,  and 
many  things  might  have  taken  him  away  from  his 
home. 

Perhaps  the  money  she  had  sent  reached  him  safely, 
but  she  had  put  in  no  address.  It  had  not  seemed  right 
that  she  should.  It  would  seem  to  draw  his  attention  to 
her,  and  she  felt  *Hhe  lady'^  would  not  like  that.  Per- 
haps they  were  married  by  this  time,  and  had  gone  far 
away  to  some  charmed  land  to  live.  Perhaps  —  a  great 
many  things.  Only  this  fact  remained;  he  never  came 
any  more  into  the  horizon  of  her  life;  and  therefore  she 
must  try  to  forget  him,  and  be  glad  that  God  had  given 
her  a  friend  in  him  for  her  time  of  need.  Some  day  in 
the  eternal  home  perhaps  she  would  meet  him  and  thank 
him  for  his  kindness  to  her,  and  then  they  might  tell  each 
other  all  about  the  journey  through  the  great  wilderness 
of  earth  after  they  had  parted.  The  links  in  Elizabeth's 
theology  had  been  well  supplied  by  this  time,  and  her 
belief  in  the  hereafter  was  strong  and  simple  like  a  child's. 

She  had  one  great  longing,  however,  that  he,  her  friend, 
who  had  in  a  way  been  the  first  to  help  her  toward  higher 
things,  and  to  save  her  from  the  wilderness,  might  know 
Jesus  Christ  as  he  had  not  known  Him  when  they  were 
together.  And  so  in  her  daily  prayer  she  often  talked 
with  her  heavenly  Father  about  him,  until  she  came  to 


IN  A    NEW   WORLD  173 

have  an  abiding  faith  that  some  day,  somehow,  he 
would  learn  the  truth  about  his  Christ. 

During  the  third  season  of  EHzabeth's  life  in  Phila- 
delphia her  grandmother  decided  that  it  was  high  time 
to  bring  out  this  bud  of  promise,  who  was  by  this  time 
developing  into  a  more  beautiful  girl  than  even  her 
fondest  hopes  had  pictured. 

So  Elizabeth  ''came  out,"  and  Grandmother  Brady 
read  her  doings  and  sayings  in  the  society  columns  with 
her  morning  coffee  and  an  air  of  deep  satisfaction.  Aunt 
Nan  listened  with  her  nose  in  the  air.  She  could  never 
understand  why  Elizabeth  should  have  privileges  beyond 
her  Lizzie.  It  was  the  Bailey  in  her,  of  course,  and  mother 
ought  not  to  think  well  of  it.  But  Grandmother  Brady 
felt  that,  while  Elizabeth's  success  was  doubtless  due  in 
large  part  to  the  Bailey  in  her,  still,  she  was  a  Brady,  and 
the  Brady  had  not  hindered  her.  It  was  a  step  upward 
for  the  Bradys. 

Lizzie  listened,  and  with  pride  retailed  at  the  ten-cent 
store  the  doings  of  "my  cousin,  Elizabeth  Bailey,"  and 
the  other  girls  listened  with  awe. 

And  so  it  came  on  to  be  the  springtime  of  the  third 
year  that  Elizabeth  had  spent  in  Philadelphia. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC 

It  was  summer  and  it  was  June.  There  was  to  be  a 
picnic,  and  Elizabeth  was  going. 

Grandmother  Brady  had  managed  it.  It  seemed  to 
her  that,  if  Elizabeth  could  go,  her  cup  of  pride  would  be 
full  to  overflowing;  so  after  much  argument,  pro  and  con, 
with  her  daughter  and  Lizzie,  she  set  herself  down  to 
pen  the  invitation.  Aunt  Nan  was  decidedly  against  it. 
She  did  not  wish  to  have  Lizzie  outshone.  She  had  been 
working  nights  for  two  weeks  on  an  elaborate  organdie, 
with  pink  roses  all  over  it,  for  Lizzie  to  wear.  It  had 
yards  and  yards  of  cheap  lace  and  insertion,  and  a  whole 
bolt  of  pink  ribbons  of  various,  widths.  The  hat  was  a 
marvel  of  impossible  roses,  just  calculated  for  the  worst 
kind  of  a  wreck  if  a  thunder-shower  should  come  up  at  a 
Sunday-school  picnic.  Lizzie's  mother  was  even  thinking 
of  getting  her  a  pink  chiffon  parasol  to  carry;  but  the 
family  treasury  was  well-nigh  depleted,  and  it  was  doubt- 
ful whether  that  would  be  possible.  After  all  that,  it 
it  did  not  seem  pleasant  to  have  Lizzie  put  in  the  shade 
by  a  fine-lady  cousin  in  silks  and  jewels. 

But  Grandmother  Brady  had  waited  long  for  her 
triumph.  She  desired  above  all  things  to  walk  among 
her  friends,  and  introduce  her  granddaughter,  Elizabeth 
Bailey,  and  inadvertently  remark:  ''You  must  have  seen 
me  granddaughter's  name  in  the  paper  often,  Mrs.  Bab- 
cock.  She  was  giving  a  party  in  Rittenhouse  Square 
the  other  day." 

174 


AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC  175 

Elizabeth  would  likely  be  married  soon,  and  perhaps 
go  off  somewhere  away  from  Philadelphia  —  New  York 
or  Europe,  there  was  no  telling  what  great  fortune  might 
come  to  her.  Now  the  time  was  ripe  for  triumph  if  ever, 
and  when  things  are  ripe  they  must  be  picked.  Mrs. 
Brady  proceeded  to  pick. 

She  gathered  together  at  great  pains  pen,  paper,  and 
ink.  A  pencil  would  be  inadequate  when  the  note  was 
going  to  Rittenhouse  Square.  She  sat  down  when  Nan 
and  Lizzie  had  left  for  their  day's  work,  and  constructed 
her  sentences  with  great  care. 

^' Dear  Bessie — ■'  Elizabeth  had  never  asked  her  not 
to  call  her  that,  although  she  fairly  detested  the  name. 
But  still  it  had  been  her  mother's  name,  and  was  likely 
dear  to  her  grandmother.  It  seemed  disloyalty  to  her 
mother  to  suggest  that  she  be  called  "Elizabeth."  So 
Grandmother  Brady  serenely  continued  to  call  her 
"Bessie"  to  the  end  of  her  days.  Elizabeth  decided  that 
to  care  much  about  such  little  things,  in  a  world  where 
there  were  so  many  great  things,  would  be  as  bad  as  to 
give  one's  mind  entirely  over  to  the  pursuit  of  fashion. 

The  letter  proceeded  laboriously: 

"Our  Sunday  school  is  going  to  have  a  picnic  out  to 
Willow  Grove.  It's  on  Tuesday.  We're  going  in  the 
trolley.  I'd  be  pleased  if  you  would  go  'long  with  us. 
We  will  spend  the  day,  and  take  our  dinner  and  supper 
along,  and  wouldn't  get  home  till  late;  so  you  could  stay 
overnight  here  with  us,  and  not  go  back  home  till  after 
breakfast.  You  needn't  bring  no  lunch;  fer  we've  got  a 
lot  of  things  planned,  and  it  ain't  worth  while.  But  if 
you  wanted  to  bring  some  candy,  you  might.  I  ain't 
got  time  to  make  any,  and  what  you  buy  at  our  grocery 


176  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

might  not  be  fine  enough  fer  you.  I  want  you  to  go  real 
bad.  IVe  never  took  my  two  granddaughters  off  to 
anything  yet,  and  your  Grandmother  Bailey  has  you  to 
things  all  the  time.  I  hope  you  can  manage  to  come. 
I  am  going  to  pay  all  the  expenses.  Your  old  Christian 
Deaver  you  used  to  'tend  is  going  to  be  there;  so  you'll 
have  a  good  time.  Lizzie  has  a  new  pink  organdie,  with 
roses  on  her  hat;  and  we're  thinking  of  getting  her  a  pink 
umbreller  if  it  don't  cost  too  much.  The  kind  with 
chiffon  flounces  on  it.  You'll  have  a  good  time,  fer  there's 
lots  of  side-shows  out  to  Willow  Grove,  and  we're  going 
to  see  everything  there  is  to  see.  There's  going  to  be 
some  music  too.  A  man  with  a  name  that  sounds  like 
swearing  is  going  to  make  -it.  I  don't  remember  it  just 
now,  but  you  can  see  it  advertised  round  on  the  trolley- 
cars.  He  comes  to  Willow  Grove  every  year.  Now 
please  let  me  hear  if  you  will  go  at  once,  as  I  want  to 
know  how  much  cake  to  make. 

*'  Your  loving  grandmother, 

''Elizabeth  Brady." 

Elizabeth  laughed  and  cried  over  this  note.  It  pleased 
her  to  have  her  grandmother  show  kindness  to  her.  She 
felt  that  whatever  she  did  for  Grandmother  Brady  was 
in  a  sense  showing  her  love  to  her  own  mother;  so  she 
brushed  aside  several  engagements,  much  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  her  Grandmother  Bailey,  who  could  not  under- 
stand why  she  wanted  to  go  down  to  Flora  Street  for 
two  days  and  a  night  just  in  the  beginning  of  warm 
weather.  True,  there  was  not  much  going  on  just  now 
between  seasons,  and  Elizabeth  could  do  as  she  pleased; 
but  she  might  get  a  fever  in  such  a  crowded  neighborhood. 
It  wasn't  in  the  least  wise.    However,  if  she  must,  she 


AN  EVENTFUL  PICNIC  177 

must.  Grandmother  Bailey  was  on  the  whole  lenient. 
Elizabeth  was  too  much  of  a  success,  and  too  wilUng  to 
please  her  in  all  things,  for  her  to  care  to  cross  her  wishes. 
So  Elizabeth  wrote  on  her  fine  note-paper  bearing  the 
Bailey  crest  in  silver: 

^' Dear  Grandmother:  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  to  the 
picnic  with  you,  and  I'll  bring  a  nice  big  box  of  candy, 
Huyler's  best.  I'm  sure  you'll  think  it's  the  best  you 
ever  tasted.  Don't  get  Lizzie  a  parasol;  I'm  going  to 
bring  her  one  to  surprise  her.  I'll  be  at  the  house  by 
eight  o'clock. 

"  Your  loving  granddaughter, 

''Elizabeth.'* 

Mrs.  Brady  read  this  note  with  satisfaction  and  handed 
it  over  to  her  daughter  to  read  with  a  gleam  of  triumph 
in  her  eyes  at  the  supper-table.  She  knew  the  gift  of  the 
pink  parasol  would  go  far  toward  reconciling  Aunt  Nan 
to  the  addition  to  their  party.  Elizabeth  never  did 
things  by  halves,  and  the  parasol  would  be  all  that  could 
possibly  be  desired  without  straining  the  family  pocket- 
book  any  further. 

So  Elizabeth  went  to  the  picnic  in  a  cool  white  dimity, 
plainly  made,  with  tiny  frills  of  itself,  edged  with  narrow 
lace  that  did  not  shout  to  the  unknowing  multitude, 
''I  am  real!"  but  was  content  with  being  so;  and  with  a 
white  Panama  hat  adorned  with  only  a  white  silken 
scarf,  but  whose  texture  was  possible  only  at  a  fabulous 
price.  The  shape  reminded  Elizabeth  of  the  old  felt  hat 
belonging  to  her  brother,  which  she  had  worn  on  her  long 
trip  across  the  continent.  She  had  put  it  on  in  the  hat- 
store  one  day;  and  her  grandmother,  when  she  found  how 


178  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

exquisite  a  piece  of  weaving  the  hat  was,  at  once  purchased 
it  for  her.  It  was  styhsh  to  wear  those  soft  hats  in  all 
sorts  of  odd  shapes.  Madam  Bailey  thought  it  would 
be  just  the  thing  for  the  seashore. 

Her  hair  was  worn  in  a  low  coil  in  her  neck,  making 
the  general  appearance  and  contour  of  her  head  much 
as  it  had  been  three  years  before.  She  wore  no  jewelry, 
save  the  unobtrusive  gold  buckle  at  her  belt  and  the  plain 
gold  hatpin  which  fastened  her  hat.  There  was  nothing 
about  her  which  marked  her  as  one  of  the  ''four  hundred." 
She  did  not  even  wear  her  gloves,  but  carried  them  in  her 
hand,  and  threw  them  carelessly  upon  the  table  when 
she  arrived  in  Flora  Street.  Long,  soft  white  ones,  they 
lay  there  in  their  costly  elegance  beside  Lizzie's  post-card 
album  that  the  livery-stable  man  gave  her  on  her  birth- 
day, all  the  long  day  while  Elizabeth  was  at  Willow 
Grove,  and  Lizzie  sweltered  around  under  her  pink 
parasol  in  long  white  silk  gloves. 

Grandmother  Brady  surveyed  Elizabeth  with  decided 
disapproval.  It  seemed  too  bad  on  this  her  day  of 
triumph,  and  after  she  had  given  a  hint,  as  it  were,  about 
Lizzie's  fine  clothes,  that  the  girl  should  be  so  blind  or 
stubborn  or  both  as  to  come  around  in  that  plain  rig. 
Just  a  common  white  dress,  and  an  old  hat  that  might 
have  been  worn  about  a  livery-stable.  It  was  mortifying 
in  the  extreme.  She  expected  a  light  silk,  and  kid  gloves, 
and  a  beflowered  hat.  Why,  Lizzie  looked  a  great  deal 
finer.  Did  Mrs.  Bailey  rig  her  out  this  way  for  spite? 
she  wondered. 

But,  as  it  was  too  late  to  send  Elizabeth  back  for  more 
fitting  garments,  the  old  lady  resigned  herself  to  her  dis- 
appointment. The  pink  parasol  was  lovely,  ar^d  Lizzie 
was  wild  over  it.     Even  Aunt  Nan  seemed  mollified.     It 


AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC  179 

gave  her  great  satisfaction  to  look  the  two  girls  over. 
Her  own  outshone  the  one  from  Rittenhouse  Square  by 
many  counts,  so  thought  the  mother;  but  all  day  long, 
as  she  walked  behind  them  or  viewed  them  from  afar, 
she  could  not  understand  why  it  was  that  the  people  who 
passed  them  always  looked  twice  at  Elizabeth  and  only 
once  at  Lizzie.  It  seemed,  after  all,  that  clothes  did  not 
make  the  girl.     It  was  disappointing. 

The  box  of  candy  was  all  that  could  possibly  be  desired. 
It  was  ample  for  the  needs  of  them  all,  including  the  two 
youths  from  the  livery-stable  who  had  attached  them- 
selves to  their  party  from  the  early  morning.  In  fact,  it 
was  two  boxes,  one  of  the  most  delectable  chocolates  of 
all  imaginable  kinds,  and  the  other  of  mixed  candies  and 
candied  fruit.  Both  boxes  bore  the  magic  name  '^Huy- 
ler's'^  on  the  covers.  Lizzie  had  often  passed  Huyler's, 
taking  her  noon  walk  on  Chestnut  Street,  and  looked 
enviously  at  the  girls  who  walked  in  and  out  with  white 
square  bundles  tied  with  gold  cord  as  if  it  were  an  every- 
day affair.  And  now  she  was  actually  eating  all  she 
pleased  of  those  renowned  candies.  It  was  almost  like 
belonging  to  the  great  elite. 

It  was  a  long  day  and  a  pleasant  one  even  to  Elizabeth. 
She  had  never  been  to  Willow  Grove  before,  and  the 
strange  blending  of  sweet  nature  and  Vanity  Fair  charmed 
her.  It  was  a  rest  after  the  winter's  round  of  monotonous 
engagements.  Even  the  loud-voiced  awkward  youths 
from  the  livery-stable  did  not  annoy  her  extremely.  She 
took  them  as  a  part  of  the  whole,  and  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  them.  They  were  rather  shy  of  her,  giving 
the  most  of  their  attention  to  Lizzie,  much  to  the  satis- 
faction of  Aunt  Nan. 

They  mounted  the  horses  in  the  merry-go-rounds,  and 


180  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

tried  each  one  several  times.  Elizabeth  wondered  why- 
anybody  desired  this  sort  of  amusement,  and  after  her 
first  trip  would  have  been  glad  to  sit  with  her  grand- 
mother and  watch  the  others,  only  that  the  old  lady 
seemed  so  much  to  desire  to  have  her  get  on  with  the 
rest.  She  would  not  do  anj^thing  to  spoil  the  pleasure 
of  the  others  if  she  could  help  it ;  so  she  obediently  seated 
herself  in  a  great  sea-shell  drawn  by  a  soiled  plaster 
nymph,  and  whirled  on  till  Lizzie  declared  it  was  time  to 
go  to  something  else. 

They  went  into  the  Old  Mill,  and  down  into  the  Mimic 
Mine,  and  sailed  through  the  painted  Venice,  eating  candy 
and  chewing  gum  and  shouting.  All  but  Elizabeth. 
Elizabeth  would  not  chew  gum  nor  talk  loud.  It  was 
not  her  way.  But  she  smiled  serenely  on  the  rest,  and 
did  not  let  it  worry  her  that  some  one  might  recognize 
the  popular  Miss  Bailey  in  so  ill-bred  a  crowd.  She  knew 
that  it  was  their  way,  and  they  could  have  no  other. 
They  were  having  a  good  time,  and  she  was  a  part  of  it 
for  to-day.  They  weighed  one  another  on  the  scales 
with  many  jokes  and  much  laughter,  and  went  to  see  all 
the  moving  pictures  in  the  place.  They  ate  their  lunch 
under  the  trees,  and  then  at  last  the  music  began. 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  outskirts  of  the  com- 
pany, for  Lizzie  declared  that  was  the  only  pleasant 
place  to  be.  She  did  not  want  to  go  "way  up  front.'' 
She  had  a  boy  on  either  side  of  her,  and  she  kept  the 
seat  shaking  with  laughter.  Now  and  then  a  weary 
guard  would  look  distressedly  down  the  line,  and  motion 
for  less  noise;  but  they  giggled  on.  Elizabeth  was  glad 
they  were  so  far  back  that  they  might  not  annoy  more 
people  than  was  necessary. 

But  the  music  was  good,  and  she  watched  the  leader 


AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC  181 

with  great  satisfaction.  She  noticed  that  there  were 
many  people  given  up  to  the  pleasure  of  it.  The  melody 
went  to  her  soul,  and  thrilled  through  it.  She  had  not 
had  much  good  music  in  her  life.  The  last  three  years, 
of  course,  she  had  been  occasionally  to  the  Academy  of 
Music;  but,  though  her  grandmother  had  a  box  there, 
she  very  seldom  had  time  or  cared  to  attend  concerts. 
Sometimes,  when  Melba,  or  Caruso,  or  some  world-re- 
nowned favorite  was  there,  she  would  take  Elizabeth  for 
an  hour,  usually  slipping  out  just  after  the  favorite  solo 
with  noticeable  loftiness,  as  if  the  orchestra  were  the 
common  dust  of  the  earth,  and  she  only  condescended 
to  come  for  the  soloist.  So  Elizabeth  had  scarcely  known 
the  delight  of  a  whole  concert  of  fine  orchestral  music. 

She  heard  Lizzie  talking. 

"Yes,  that's  Walter  Damrosch!  Ain't  that  name 
fierce?  Grandma  thinks  it's  kind  of  wicked  to  pernounce 
it  that  way.  They  say  he's  fine,  but  I  must  say  I  liked 
the  band  they  had  last  year  better.  It  played  a  whole 
lot  of  lively  things,  and  once  they  had  a  rattle-box  and  a 
squeaking  thing  that  cried  like  a  baby  right  out  in  the 
music,  and  everybody  just  roared  laughing.  I  tell  you 
that  was  great.  I  don't  care  much  for  this  here  kind  of 
music  myself .  Do  you?"  And  Jim  and  Joe  both  agreed 
that  they  didn't,  either.  Elizabeth  smiled,  and  kept  on 
enjoying  it. 

Peanuts  were  the  order  of  the  day,  and  their  assertive 
crackle  broke  in  upon  the  finest  passages.  Elizabeth 
wished  her  cousin  w^ould  take  a  walk;  and  by  and  by  she 
did,  politely  inviting  Elizabeth  to  go  along;  but  she  de- 
clined, and  they  were  left  to  sit  through  the  remainder 
of  the  afternoon  concert. 

After  supper  they  watched  the  lights  come  out,  Eliza- 


182  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

beth  thinking  about  the  description  of  the  heavenly  city 
as  one  after  another  the  buildings  blazed  out  against  the 
darkening  blue  of  the  June  night.  The  music  was  about 
to  begin.  Indeed^  it  could  be  heard  already  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  drew  the  girl  irresistibly.  For  the  first  time 
that  day  she  made  a  move,  and  the  others  followed,  half 
wearied  of  their  dissipations,  and  not  knowing  exactly 
what  to  do  next. 

They  stood  the  first  half  of  the  concert  very  well,  but 
at  the  intermission  they  wandered  out  to  view  the  electric 
fountain  with  its  many-colored  fluctuations,  and  to  take 
a  row  on  the  tiny  sheet  of  water.  Ehzabeth  remained 
sitting  where  she  was,  and  watched  the  fountain.  Even 
her  grandmother  and  aunt  grew  restless,  and  wanted  to 
walk  again.  They  said  they  had  had  enough  music,  and 
did  not  want  to  hear  any  more.  They  could  hear  it  well 
enough,  anyway,  from  further  off.  They  believed  they 
would  have  some  ice-cream.    Didn't  Elizabeth  want  some? 

She  smiled  sweetly.  Would  grandmother  mind  if  she 
sat  right  there  and  heard  the  second  part  of  the  concert? 
She  loved  music,  and  this  was  fine.  She  didn't  feel  like 
eating  another  thing  to-night.  So  the  two  ladies,  think- 
ing the  girl  queer  that  she  didn't  want  ice-cream,  went  off 
to  enjoy  theirs  with  a  clear  conscience;  and  Elizabeth 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  sat  back  with  her  eyes  closed,  to 
rest  and  breathe  in  the  sweet  sounds  that  were  beginning 
to  float  out  deUcately  as  if  to  feel  whether  the  atmosphere 
were  right  for  what  was  to  come  after. 

It  was  just  at  the  close  of  this  wonderful  music,  which 
the  programme  said  was  Mendelssohn's  ''Spring  Song," 
when  Elizabeth  looked  up  to  meet  the  eyes  of  some  one 
who  stood  near  in  the  aisle  watching  her,  and  there  beside 
her  stood  the  man  of  the  wilderness! 


AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC  183 

He  was  looking  at  her  face,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of 
the  profile  and  wondering  whether  he  were  right.  Could 
it  be  that  this  was  his  little  brown  friend,  the  maid  of  the 
wilderness?  This  girl  with  the  lovely,  refined  face,  the 
intellectual  brow,  the  dainty  fineness  of  manner?  She 
looked  like  some  white  angel  dropped  down  into  that 
motley  company  of  Sunday-school  picknickers  and  city 
pleasure-seekers.  The  noise  and  clatter  of  the  place 
seemed  far  away  from  her.  She  was  absorbed  utterly  in 
the  sweet  sounds. 

When  she  looked  up  and  saw  him,  the  smile  that  flashed 
out  upon  her  face  was  like  the  sunshine  upon  a  day  that 
has  hitherto  been  still  and  almost  sad.  The  eyes  said, 
''You  are  come  at  last!'^  The  curve  of  the  lips  said,  "I 
am  glad  you  are  here!" 

He  went  to  her  like  one  who  had  been  hungry  for  the 
sight  of  her  for  a  long  time,  and  after  he  had  grasped  her 
hand  they  stood  so  for  a  moment  while  the  hum  and 
gentle  clatter  of  talk  that  always  starts  between  numbers 
seethed  around  them  and  hid  the  few  words  they  spoke 
at  first. 

*'0,  I  have  so  longed  to  know  if  you  were  safe!"  said 
the  man  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 

Then  straightway  the  girl  forgot  all  her  three  years  of 
training,  and  her  success  as  a  debutante,  and  became  the 
grave,  shy  thing  she  had  been  to  him  when  he  first  saw 
her,  looking  up  with  awed  delight  into  the  face  she  had 
seen  in  her  dreams  for  so  long,  and  yet  might  not  long  for. 

The  orchestra  began  again,  and  they  sat  in  silence 
listening.  But  yet  their  souls  seemed  to  speak  to  each 
other  through  the  medium  of  the  music,  as  if  the  inter- 
vening years  were  being  bridged  and  brought  together  in 
the  space  of  those  few  waves  of  melody. 


184  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

"I  have  found  out,''  said  Elizabeth,  looking  up  shyly 
with  a  great  light  in  her  eyes.  ^'I  have  found  what  it  all 
means.  Have  you?  O,  I  have  wanted  so  much  to  know 
whether  you  had  found  out  too!" 

"Found  out  what?"  he  asked  half  sadly  that  he  did 
not  understand. 

"Found  out  how  God  hides  us.  Found  what  a  friend 
Jesus  Christ  can  be." 

"You  are  just  the  same,"  said  the  man  with  satisfac- 
tion in  his  eyes.  "You  have  not  been  changed  nor 
spoiled.    They  could  not  spoil  you." 

"Have  you  found  out  too?"  she  asked  softly.  She 
looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  wistful  longing.  She  wanted 
this  thing  so  very  much.  It  had  been  in  her  prayers  for 
so  long. 

He  could  not  withdraw  his  own  glance.  He  did  not 
wish  to.  He  longed  to  be  able  to  answer  what  she 
wished. 

"A  little,  perhaps,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "Not  so  much 
as  I  would  like  to.     Will  you  help  me?" 

^'He  will  help  you.  You  will  find  Him  if  you  search 
for  Him  with  all  your  heart,"  she  said  earnestly.  "It 
says  so  in  His  book." 

Then  came  more  music,  wistful,  searching,  tender. 
Did  it  speak  of  the  things  of  heaven  to  other  souls  there 
than  those  two? 

He  stooped  down,  and  said  in  a  low  tone  that  somehow 
seemed  to  blend  with  the  music  like  the  words  that  fitted 
it, 

"I  will  try  with  all  my  heart  if  you  will  help  me." 

She  smiled  her  answer,  brimming  back  with  deep  de- 
light. 

Into  the  final  lingering  notes  of  an  andante  from  one  of 


AN   EVENTFUL   PICNIC  185 

Beethoven^s  sublime  symphonies  clashed  the  loud  voice 
of  Lizzie: 

''0  Bess!  Bess!  B-es-see!  I  say,  Bessie!  Ma  says 
we'll  have  to  go  over  by  the  cars  now  if  we  want  to  get  a 
seat.  The  concert's  most  out,  and  there'll  be  a  fierce 
rush.  Come  on!  And  grandma  says,  bring  your  friend 
along  with  you  if  you  want."  This  last  with  a  smirking 
recognition  of  the  man,  who  had  turned  around  wonder- 
ingly  to  see  who  was  speaking. 

With  a  quick,  searching  glance  that  took  in  bedraggled 
organdie,  rose  hat,  and  pink  parasol,  and  set  them  aside 
for  what  they  were  worth,  George  Benedict  observed  and 
classified  Lizzie. 

''  Will  you  excuse  yourself,  and  let  me  take  you  home  a 
little  later?"  he  asked  in  a  low  tone.  ''The  crowd  will  be 
very  great,  and  I  have  my  automobile  here." 

She  looked  at  him  gratefully,  and  assented.  She  had 
much  to  tell  him.  She  leaned  across  the  seats,  and  spoke 
in  a  clear  tone  to  her  cousin. 

''I  will  come  a  little  later,"  she  said,  smiling  with  her 
Rittenhouse  Square  look  that  always  made  Lizzie  a  little 
afraid  of  her.  ''Tell  grandmother  I  have  found  an  old 
friend  I  have  not  seen  for  a  long  time.  I  will  be  there 
almost  as  soon  as  you  are." 

They  waited  while  Lizzie  explained,  and  the  grand- 
mother and  aunt  nodded  a  reluctant  assent.  Aunt  Nan 
frowned.  Elizabeth  might  have  brought  her  friend  along, 
and  introduced  him  to  Lizzie.  Did  Elizabeth  think 
Lizzie  wasn't  good  enough  to  be  introduced? 

He  wrapped  her  in  a  great  soft  rug  that  was  in  the  auto- 
mobile, and  tucked  her  in  beside  him;  and  she  felt  as  if 
the  long,  hard  days  that  had  passed  since  they  had  met 
were  all  forgotten  and  obliterated  in  this  night  of  delight. 


186  THE   GIKL  FROM  MONTANA 

Not  all  the  attentions  of  all  the  fine  men  she  had  met  in 
society  had  ever  been  like  his,  so  gentle,  so  perfect.  She 
had  forgotten  the  lady  as  completely  as  if  she  had  never 
heard  of  her.  She  wanted  now  to  tell  her  friend  about  her 
heavenly  Friend. 

He  let  her  talk,  and  watched  her  glowing,  earnest  face 
by  the  dim  light  of  the  sky;  for  the  moon  had  come  out 
to  crown  the  night  with  beauty,  and  the  unnatural  bril- 
liance of  electric  blaze,  with  all  the  glitter  and  noise  of 
Willow  Grove,  died  into  the  dim,  sweet  night  as  those 
two  sped  onward  toward  the  city.  The  heart  of  the  man 
kept  singing,  singing,  singing:  ''I  have  found  her  at  last! 
She  is  safe!'' 

''I  have  prayed  for  you  always,"  he  said  in  one  of  the 
pauses.  It  was  just  as  they  were  coming  into  Flora 
Street.  The  urchins  were  all  out  on  the  sidewalk  yet, 
for  the  night  was  hot;  and  they  gathered  about,  and  ran 
hooting  after  the  car  as  it  slowed  up  at  the  door.  ''I  am 
sure  He  did  hide  you  safely,  and  I  shall  thank  Him  for 
answering  my  prayer.  And  now  I  am  coming  to  see  you. 
May  I  come  to-morrow?  " 

There  was  a  great  gladness  in  her  eyes.     ''  Yes,"  she  said. 

The  Bradys  had  arrived  from  the  corner  trolley,  and 
were  hovering  about  the  door  self-assertively.  It  was 
most  apparent  to  an  onlooker  that  this  was  a  good  oppor- 
tunity for  an  introduction,  but  the  two  young  people 
were  entirely  oblivious.  The  man  touched  his  hat  gravely, 
a  look  of  great  admiration  in  his  eyes,  and  said,  ''Good 
night "  like  a  benediction.  Then  the  girl  turned  and  went 
into  the  plain  little  home  and  to  her  belligerent  relatives 
with  a  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  joy  in  her  steps  that  had  not 
been  there  earlier  in  the  day.  The  dreams  that  visited 
her  hard  pillow  that  night  were  heavenly  and  sweet. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


ALONE   AGAIN 


"Now  we're  goin'  to  see  ef  the  paper  says  anythin* 
about  our  Bessie,"  said  Grandmother  Brady  the  next 
morning,  settUng  her  spectacles  over  her  nose  comfort- 
ably and  crossing  one  fat  gingham  knee  over  the  other. 
*'I  always  read  the  society  notes,  Bess." 

Elizabeth  smiled,  and  her  grandmother  read  down  the 
column: 

''Mr.  George  Trescott  Benedict  and  his  mother,  Mrs. 
Vincent  Benedict,  have  arrived  home  after  an  extended 
tower  of  Europe,"  read  Mrs.  Brady.  ''Mrs.  Benedict  is 
much  improved  in  health.  It  is  rumored  they  will  spend 
the  summer  at  their  country  seat  on  Wissahickon  Heights." 

"My!"  interrupted  Lizzie  with  her  mouth  full  of  fried 
potatoes.  "That's  that  fellow  that  was  engaged  to  that 
Miss  What's-her-Name  Loring.  Don't  you  'member? 
They  had  his  picture  in  the  papers,  and  her;  and  then 
all  at  once  she  threw  him  over  for  some  dook  or  something, 
and  this  feller  went  off.  I  heard  about  it  from  Mame. 
Her  sister  works  in  a  department-store,  and  she  knows 
Miss  Loring.  She  says  she's  an  awfully  handsome  girl, 
and  George  Benedict  was  just  gone  on  her.  He  had  a 
fearful  case.  Mame  says  Miss  Loring  —  what  is  her 
name?  —  O,  Geraldine  —  Geraldine  Loring  bought  some 
lace  of  her.  She  heard  her  say  it  was  for  the  gown  she  was 
going  to  wear  at  the  horse-show.  They  had  her  picture 
in  the  paper  just  after  the  horse-show,  and  it  was  all  over 

187 


188  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

lace.  I  saw  it.  It  cost  a  whole  lot.  I  forget  how  many 
dollars  a  yard.  But  there  was  something  the  matter 
with  the  dook.  She  didn't  marry  him,  after  all.  In  her 
picture  she  was  driving  four  horses.  Don't  you  remember 
it,  grandma?  She  sat  up  tall  and  high  on  a  seat,  holding 
a  whole  lot  of  ribbons  and  whips  and  things.  She  has  an 
elegant  figger.  I  guess  mebbe  the  dook  wasn't  rich 
enough.  She  hasn't  been  engaged  to  anybody  else,  and 
I  shouldn't  wonder  now  but  she'd  take  George  Benedict 
back.     He  was  so  av/ful  stuck  on  her!" 

Lizzie  rattled  on,  and  the  grandmother  read  more 
society  notes,  but  Elizabeth  heard  no  more.  Her  heart 
had  suddenly  frozen,  and  dropped  down  like  lead  into  her 
being.  She  felt  as  if  she  never  would  be  able  to  raise  it 
again.  The  lady!  Surely  she  had  forgotten  the  lady. 
But  Geraldine  Loring!  Of  all  women!  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible? Geraldine  Loring  was  almost  —  well,  fast,  at 
least,  as  nearly  so  as  one  who  was  really  of  a  fine  old 
family,  and  still  held  her  own  in  society,  could  be.  She 
was  beautiful  as  a  picture;  but  her  face,  to  Elizabeth's 
mind,  was  lacking  in  fine  feeling  and  intellect.  A  great 
pity  went  out  from  her  heart  to  the  man  whose  fate  was 
in  that  doll-girl's  hands.  True,  she  had  heard  that  Miss 
Loring's  family  were  unquestionable,  and  she  knew  her 
mother  was  a  most  charming  woman.  Perhaps  she  had 
misjudged  her.  She  must  have  done  so  if  he  cared  for 
her,  for  it  could  not  be  otherwise. 

The  joy  had  gone  out  of  the  morning  when  Ehzabeth 
went  home.  She  went  up  to  her  Grandmother  Bailey  at 
once,  and  after  she  had  read  her  letters  for  her,  and  per- 
formed the  little  services  that  were  her  habit,  she  said: 

''Grandmother,  I'm  expecting  a  man  to  call  upon  me 
to-day.     I  thought  I  had  better  tell  you." 


ALONE  AGAIN  189 

"A  man!"  said  Madam  Bailey,  alarmed  at  once.  She 
wanted  to  look  over  and  portion  out  the  right  man  when 
the  time  came.     ''What  man?'' 

''Why,  a  man  I  met  in  Montana,"  said  Elizabeth, 
wondering  how  much  she  ought  to  tell. 

"A  man  you  met  in  Montana!  Horrors!"  exclaimed 
the  now  thoroughly  aroused  grandmother.  "Not  that 
dreadful  creature  you  ran  away  from?" 

"O  no!"  said  Ehzabeth,  smihng.  "Not  that  man. 
A  man  who  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  whom  I  like  very 
much." 

So  much  the  worse.     Immediate  action  was  necessary. 

"Well,  Ehzabeth,"  said  Madam  Bailey  in  her  stiffest 
tones,  "I  really  do  not  care  to  have  any  of  your  Montana 
friends  visit  you.  You  will  have  to  excuse  yourself. 
It  will  lead  to  embarrassing  entanglements.  You  do  not 
in  the  least  realize  your  position  in  society.  It  is  all  well 
enough  to  please  your  relatives,  although  I  think  you 
often  overdo  that.  You  could  just  as  well  send  them  a 
present  now  and  then,  and  please  them  more  than  to  go 
yourself.  But  as  for  any  outsiders,  it  is  impossible.  I 
draw  the  line  there." 

"  But  grandmother " 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  Elizabeth;  I  have  something 
more  to  say.  I  had  word  this  morning  from  the  steamship 
company.  They  can  give  us  our  staterooms  on  the 
Deutschland  on  Saturday,  and  I  have  decided  to  take 
them.  I  have  telegraphed,  and  we  shall  leave  here  to-day 
for  New  York.  I  have  one  or  two  matters  of  business  I 
wish  to  attend  to  in  New  York.  We  shall  go  to  the  Wal- 
dorf for  a  few  days,  and  you  will  have  more  opportunity 
to  see  New  York  than  you  have  had  yet.  It  will  not  be 
too  warm  to  enjoy  going  about  a  little,  I  fancy;  and  a 


190  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

number  of  our  friends  are  going  to  be  at  the  Waldorf,  too. 
The  Craigs  sail  on  Saturday  with  us.  You  will  have 
young  company  on  the  voyage." 

Elizabeth's  heart  sank  lower  than  she  had  known  it 
could  go,  and  she  grew  white  to  the  lips.  The  observant 
grandmother  decided  that  she  had  done  well  to  be  so 
prompt.  The  man  from  Montana  was  by  no  means  to 
be  admitted.  She  gave  orders  to  that  effect,  unknown 
to  Elizabeth. 

The  girl  went  slowly  to  her  room.  All  at  once  it  had 
dawned  upon  her  that  she  had  not  given  her  address  to 
the  man  the  night  before,  nor  told  him  by  so  much  as  a 
word  what  were  her  circumstances.  An  hour's  medita- 
tion brought  her  to  the  unpleasant  decision  that  perhaps 
even  now  in  this  hard  spot  God  was  only  hiding  her  from 
worse  trouble.  Mr.  George  Benedict  belonged  to 
Geraldine  Loring.  He  had  declared  as  much  when  he 
was  in  Montana.  It  would  not  be  well  for  her  to  renew 
the  acquaintance.  Her  heart  told  her  by  its  great  ache 
that  she  would  be  crushed  under  a  friendship  that  could 
not  be  lasting. 

Very  sadly  she  sat  down  to  write  a  note. 

"My  dear  Friend/'  she  wrote  on  plain  paper  with  no 
crest.  It  was  like  her  to  choose  that.  She  would  not 
flaunt  her  good  fortune  in  his  face.  She  was  a  plain 
Montana  girl  to  him,  and  so  she  would  remain. 

"My  grandmother  has  been  very  ill,  and  is  obliged  to 
go  away  for  her  health.  Unexpectedly  I  find  that  we  are 
to  go  to-day.  I  supposed  it  would  not  be  for  a  week  yet. 
I  am  so  sorry  not  to  see  you  again,  but  I  send  you  a 
little  book  that  has  helped  me  to  get  acquainted  with 
Jesus  Christ.     Perhaps  it  will  help  you  too.     It  is  called 


ALONE   AGAIN  191 

'My  Best  Friend.'  I  shall  not  forget  to  pray  always  that 
you  may  find  Him.  He  is  so  precious  to  me!  I  must 
thank  you  in  words,  though  I  never  can  say  it  as  it  should 
be  said,  for  your  very  great  kindness  to  me  when  I  was 
in  trouble.  God  sent  you  to  me,  I  am  sure.  Always 
gratefully  your  friend, 

"Elizabeth.'' 

That  was  all,  no  date,  no  address.  He  was  not  hers, 
and  she  would  hang  out  no  clues  for  him  to  find  her,  even 
if  he  wished.     It  was  better  so. 

She  sent  the  note  and  the  little  book  to  his  address  on 
Walnut  Street;  and  then  after  writing  a  note  to  her 
Grandmother  Brady,  saying  that  she  was  going  away 
for  a  long  trip  with  Grandmother  Bailey,  she  gave  her- 
self into  the  hands  of  the  future  like  a  submissive  but 
weary  child. 

The  noon  train  to  New  York  carried  in  its  drawing- 
room-car  Madam  Bailey,  her  granddaughter,  her  maid, 
and  her  dog,  bound  for  Europe.  The  society  columns  so 
stated;  and  so  read  Grandmother  Brady  a  few  days  after- 
ward. So  also  read  George  Benedict,  but  it  meant  nothing 
to  him. 

When  he  received  the  note,  his  mind  was  almost  as 
much  excited  as  when  he  saw  the  little  brown  girl  and  the 
little  brown  horse  vanishing  behind  the  little  brown 
station  on  the  prairie.  He  went  to  the  telephone,  and 
reflected  that  he  knew  no  names.  He  called  up  his  auto- 
mobile, and  tore  up  to  Flora  Street;  but  in  his  bewilder- 
ment of  the  night  before  he  had  not  noticed  which  block 
the  house  was  in,  nor  which  number.  He  thought  he 
knew  where  to  find  it,  but  in  broad  daylight  the  houses 
were  all  alike  for  three  blocks,  and  for  the  life  of  him  he 


192  THE    GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

could  not  remember  whether  he  had  tm-ned  up  to  the  right 
or  the  left  when  he  came  to  Flora  Street.  He  tried  both, 
but  saw  no  sign  of  the  people  he  had  but  casually  noticed 
at  Willow  Grove. 

He  could  not  ask  where  she  lived,  for  he  did  not  know 
her  name.  Nothing  but  Elizabeth,  and  they  had  called 
her  Bessie.  He  could  not  go  from  house  to  house  asking 
for  a  girl  named  Bessie.  They  would  think  him  a  fool, 
as  he  was,  for  not  finding  out  her  name,  her  precious  name, 
at  once.  How  could  he  let  her  slip  from  him  again  when 
he  had  just  found  her? 

At  last  he  hit  upon  a  bright  idea.  He  asked  some  chil- 
dren along  the  street  whether  they  knew  of  any  young 
woman  named  Bessie  or  Elizabeth  living  there,  but  they 
all  with  one  accord  shook  their  heads,  though  one  vol- 
unteered the  information  that  '' Lizzie  Smith  lives  there." 
It  was  most  distracting  and  unsatisf3dng.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  for  him  to  go  home  and  wait  in  patience 
for  her  return.  She  would  come  back  sometime  probably. 
She  had  not  said  so,  but  she  had  not  said  she  would  not. 
He  had  found  her  once;  he  might  find  her  again.  And  he 
could  pray.  She  had  found  comfort  in  that ;  so  would  he. 
He  would  learn  what  her  secret  was.  He  would  get 
acquainted  with  her  "best  Friend."  Diligently  did  he 
study  that  little  book,  and  then  he  went  and  hunted  up 
the  man  of  God  who  had  written  it,  and  who  had  been 
the  one  to  lead  Elizabeth  into  the  path  of  light  by  his 
earnest  preaching  every  Sabbath,  though  this  fact  he 
did  not  know. 

The  days  passed,  and  the  Saturday  came.  Elizabeth, 
heavy-hearted,  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Deutschland,  and 
watched  her  native  land  disappear  from  view.  So  again 
George  Benedict  had  lost  her  from  sight. 


ALONE  AGAIN  193 

It  struck  Elizabeth,  as  she  stood  straining  her  eyes  to 
see  the  last  of  the  shore  through  tears  that  would  burn 
to  the  surface  and  fall  down  her  white  cheeks,  that  again 
she  was  running  away  from  a  man,  only  this  time  not  of 
her  own  free  will.  She  was  being  taken  away.  But  per- 
haps it  was  better. 

And  it  never  once  entered  her  mind  that,  if  she  had  told 
her  grandmother  who  the  friend  in  Montana  was,  and 
where  he  lived  in  Philadelphia,  it  would  have  made  all 
the  difference  in  the  world. 

From  the  first  of  the  voyage  Grandmother  Bailey 
grew  steadily  worse,  and  when  they  landed  on  the  other 
side  they  went  from  one  place  to  another  seeking  health. 
Carlsbad  waters  did  not  agree  with  her,  and  they  went  to 
the  south  of  France  to  try  the  climate.  At  each  move 
the  little  Old  lady  grew  weaker  and  more  querulous. 
She  finally  made  no  further  resistance,  and  gave  up  to 
the  role  of  invalid.  Then  Elizabeth  must  be  in  constant 
attendance.  Madam  Bailey  demanded  reading,  and  no 
voice  was  so  soothing  as  Elizabeth's. 

Gradually  EHzabeth  substituted  books  of  her  own 
choice  as  her  grandmother  seemed  not  to  mind,  and  now 
and  then  she  would  read  a  page  of  some  book  that  told 
of  the  best  Friend.  At  first  because  it  was  written  by 
the  dear  pastor  at  home  it  commanded  her  attention,  and 
finally  because  some  dormant  chord  in  her  heart  had  been 
touched,  she  allowed  Elizabeth  to  speak  of  these  things. 
But  it  was  not  until  they  had  been  away  from  home  for 
three  months,  and  she  had  been  growing  daily  weaker 
and  weaker,  that  she  allowed  EUzabeth  to  read  in  the 
Bible. 

The  girl  chose  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  John,  and  over 
and  over  again,  whenever  the  restless  nerves  tormented 


194  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

their  victim,  she  would  read  those  words,  "Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled"  until  the  selfish  soul,  who  had  lived 
all  her  life  to  please  the  world  and  do  her  own  pleasure, 
came  at  last  to  hear  the  words,  and  feel  that  perhaps  she 
did  believe  in  God,  and  might  accept  that  invitation, 
"Believe  also  in  me." 

One  day  Elizabeth  had  been  reading  a  psalm,  and 
thought  her  grandmother  was  asleep.  She  was  sitting 
back  with  weary  heart,  thinking  what  would  happen  if 
her  grandmother  should  not  get  well.  The  old  lady 
opened  her  eyes. 

"Elizabeth,"  she  said  abruptly,  just  as  when  she  was 
well,  "you've  been  a  good  girl.  I'm  glad  you  came.  I 
couldn't  have  died  right  without  you.  I  never  thought 
much  about  these  things  before,  but  it  really  is  worth 
while.  In  my  Father's  house.  He  is  my  Father,  Eliza- 
beth." 

She  went  to  sleep  then,  and  Elizabeth  tiptoed  out  and 
left  her  with  the  nurse.  By  and  by  Marie  came  cr)dng  in, 
and  told  her  that  the  Madam  was  dead. 

Elizabeth  was  used  to  having  people  die.  She  was  not 
shocked;  only  it  seemed  lonely  again  to  find  herself  facing 
the  world,  in  a  foreign  land.  And  when  she  came  to  face 
the  arrangements  that  had  to  be  made,  which,  after  all, 
money  and  servants  made  easy,  she  found  herself  dread- 
ing her  own  land.  What  must  she  do  after  her  grand- 
mother was  laid  to  rest?  She  could  not  live  in  the  great 
house  in  Rittenhouse  Square,  and  neither  could  she  very 
well  go  and  live  in  Flora  Street.  O,  well,  her  Father 
would  hide  her.  She  need  not  plan;  He  would  plan  for 
her.  The  mansions  on  the  earth  were  His  too,  as  well  as 
those  in  heaven. 

And  so  resting  she  passed  through  the  weary  voyage 


ALONE  AGAIN  195 

and  the  day  when  the  body  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  Bailey 
lot  in  the  cemetery,  and  she  went  back  to  the  empty 
house  alone.  It  was  not  until  after  the  funeral  that  she 
went  to  see  Grandmother  Brady.  She  had  not  thought 
it  wise  or  fitting  to  invite  the  hostile  grandmother  to  the 
other  one's  funeral.  She  had  thought  Grandmother 
Bailey  would  not  like  it. 

She  rode  to  Flora  Street  in  the  carriage.  She  felt  too 
weary  to  walk  or  go  in  the  trolley.  She  was  taking 
account  of  stock  in  the  way  of  friends,  thinking  over 
whom  she  cared  to  see.  One  of  the  first  bits  of  news  she 
had  heard  on  arriving  in  this  country  had  been  that  Miss 
Loring's  wedding  was  to  come  off  in  a  few  days.  It 
seemed  to  strike  her  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  she  was 
trying  to  arraign  herself  for  this  as  she  rode  along.  It 
was  therefore  not  helpful  to  her  state  of  mind  to  have 
her  grandmother  remark  grimly: 

''That  feller  o'  yours  'n  his  oughtymobble  has  been 
goin'  up  an*  down  this  street,  day  in,  day  out,  this  whole 
blessed  summer.  Ain't  been  a  day  he  didn't  pass,  some- 
times once,  sometimes  twicet.  I  felt  sorry  fer  him  some- 
times. Ef  he  hadn't  been  so  high  an'  mighty  stuck  up 
that  he  couldn't  recognize  me,  I'd  'a'  spoke  to  him.  It 
was  plain  ez  the  nose  on  your  face  he  was  lookin'  fer  you. 
Don't  he  know  where  you  live?" 

''I  don't  believe  he  does,"  said  Elizabeth  languidly. 
"  Say,  grandmother,  would  you  care  to  come  up  to  Ritten- 
house  Square  and  live?" 

*'Me?  In  Rittenhouse  Square?  Fer  the  land  sakes, 
child,  no.  That's  flat.  I've  lived  me  days  out  in  me  own 
sp'ere,  and  I  don't  intend  to  change  now  at  me  time  o' 
life.  Ef  you  want  to  do  somethin'  nice  fer  me,  child,  now 
you've  got  all  that  money,  I'd  like  real  well  to  live  in  a 


196  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

house  that  hed  white  marble  steps.  It's  been  me  one 
aim  all  me  life.  There's  some  round  on  the  next  street 
that  don't  come  high.  There'd  be  plenty  room  fer  us 
all,  an'  a  nice  place  fer  Lizzie  to  get  married  when  the 
time  comes.  The  parlor's  real  big,  and  you  would  send 
her  some  roses,  couldn't  you?" 

''AH  right,  grandmother.  You  shall  have  it,"  said 
Elizabeth  with  a  relieved  sigh,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she 
went  home.  Some  day  pretty  soon  she  must  think 
what  to  do,  but  there  was  no  immediate  hurry.  She  was 
glad  that  Grandmother  Brady  did  not  want  to  come  to 
Rittenhouse  Square.  Things  would  be  more  congenial 
without  her. 

But  the  house  seemed  great  and  empty  when  she  en- 
tered, and  she  was  glad  to  hear  the  friendly  telephone 
bell  ringing.  It  was  the  wife  of  her  pastor,  asking  her  to 
come  to  them  for  a  quiet  dinner. 

This  was  the  one  home  in  the  great  city  where  she  felt 
like  going  in  her  loneliness.  There  would  be  no  form  nor 
ceremony.  Just  a  friend  with  them.  It  was  good. 
The  doctor  would  give  her  some  helpful  words.  She  was 
glad  they  had  asked  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   PINAL   FLIGHT  AND    PURSUIT 

"George,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent  Benedict,  ''I  want  you 
to  do  something  for  me." 

^'Certainly,  mother,  anything  I  can." 

''Well,  it's  only  to  go  to  dinner  with  me  to-night. 
Our  pastor's  wife  has  telephoned  me  that  she  wants  us 
very  much.  She  especially  emphasized  you.  She  said 
she  absolutely  needed  you.  It  was  a  case  of  charity, 
and  she  would  be  so  grateful  to  you  if  you  would  come. 
She  has  a  young  friend  with  her  who  is  very  sad,  and  she 
wants  to  cheer  her  up.  Now  don't  frown.  I  won't 
bother  you  again  this  week.  I  know  you  hate  dinners 
and  girls.  But  really,  George,  this  is  an  unusual  case. 
The  girl  is  just  home  from  Europe,  and  buried  her  grand- 
mother yesterday.  She  hasn't  a  soul  in  the  world  be- 
longing to  her  that  can  be  with  her,  and  the  pastor's  wife 
has  asked  her  over  to  dinner  quietly.  Of  course  she  isn't 
going  out.  She  must  be  in  mourning.  And  you  know 
you're  fond  of  the  doctor." 

"Yes,  I'm  fond  of  the  doctor,"  said  George,  frowning 
discouragedly;  ''but  I'd  rather  take  him  alone,  and  not 
with  a  girl  flung  at  me  everlastingly.  I'm  tired  of  it. 
I  didn't  think  it  of  Christian  people,  though;  I  thought 
she  was  above  such  things." 

"Now,  George,"  said  his  mother  severely,  "that's  a 
real  insult  to  the  girl,  and  to  our  friend  too.  She  hasn't 
an  idea  of  doing  any  such  thing.  It  seem§  this  girl  is 
quite  unusual,  very  religious,  and  our  friend  thought  you 

197 


198  THE   GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

would  be  just  the  one  to  cheer  her.  She  apologized 
several  times  for  presuming  to  ask  you  to  help  her.  You 
really  will  have  to  go.'* 

''Well,  who  is  this  paragon,  anyway?  Any  one  I 
know?    I  s'pose  I've  got  to  go." 

"  Why,  she's  a  Miss  Bailey,"  said  the  mother,  relieved. 
"Mrs.  Wilton  Merrill  Bailey's  granddaughter.  Did  you 
ever  happen  to  meet  her?    I  never  did." 

"Never  heard  of  her,"  growled  George.  "Wish  I 
hadn't  now." 

"George!" 

"Well,  mother,  go  on.  I'll  be  good.  What  does  she 
do?    Dance,  and  play  bridge,  and  sing?" 

"I  haven't  heard  anything  that  she  does,"  said  his 
mother,  laughing. 

"Well,  of  course  she's  a  paragon;  they  all  are,  mother. 
I'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Let's  go  and  get  it  done. 
We  can  come  home  early,  can't  we?" 

Mrs.  Benedict  sighed.  If  only  George  would  settle 
down  on  some  suitable  girl  of  good  family!  But  he  was 
so  queer  and  restless.  She  was  afraid  for  him.  Ever 
since  she  had  taken  him  away  to  Europe,  when  she  was 
so  ill,  she  had  been  afraid  for  him.  He  seemed  so  moody 
and  absent-minded  then  and  afterwards.  Now  this 
Miss  Bailey  was  said  to  be  as  beautiful  as  she  was  good. 
If  only  George  would  take  a  notion  to  her! 

Elizabeth  was  sitting  in  a  great  arm-chair  by  the  open 
fire  when  he  entered  the  room.  He  had  not  expected  to 
find  any  one  there.  He  heard  voices  up-stairs,  and  sup- 
posed Miss  Bailey  was  talking  with  her  hostess.  His 
mother  followed  the  servant  to  remove  her  wraps,  and  he 
entered  the  drawing-room  alone.  She  stirred,  looked 
up,  and  saw  him. 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT   AND    PURSUIT  199 

''Elizabeth!"  he  said,  and  came  forward  to  grasp  her 
hand.     ''I  have  found  you  again.     How  came  you  here?" 

But  she  had  no  opportunity  to  answer,  for  the  ladies 
entered  almost  at  once,  and  there  stood  the  two  smiling 
at  each  other. 

''Why,  you  have  met  before!"  exclaimed  the  hostess. 
"How  delighted  I  am!  I  knew  you  two  would  enjoy 
meeting.  EUzabeth,  child,  you  never  told  me  you  knew 
George." 

George  Benedict  kept  looking  around  for  Miss  Bailey 
to  enter  the  room;  but  to  his  relief  she  did  not  come, 
and,  when  they  went  out  to  the  dining-room,  there  was 
no  place  set  for  her.  She  must  have  preferred  to  remain 
at  home.  He  forgot  her,  and  settled  down  to  the  joy  of 
having  Elizabeth  by  his  side.  His  mother,  opposite, 
watched  his  face  blossom  into  the  old-time  joy  as  he 
handed  this  new  girl  the  olives,  and  had  eyes  for  no  one 
else. 

It  was  to  Elizabeth  a  blessed  evening.  They  held 
sweet  converse  one  with  another  as  children  of  the  King. 
For  a  little  time  under  the  old  influence  of  the  restful, 
helpful  talk  she  forgot  "the  lady,"  and  all  the  perplexing 
questions  that  had  vexed  her  soul.  She  knew  only  that 
she  had  entered  into  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  love  and 
joy. 

It  was  not  until  the  evening  was  over,  and  the  guests 
were  about  to  leave,  that  Mrs.  Benedict  addressed  Eliza- 
beth as  Miss  Bailey.  Up  to  that  moment  it  had  not 
entered  her  son's  mind  that  Miss  Bailey  was  present  at 
all.  He  turned  with  a  start,  and  looked  into  Elizabeth's 
eyes;  and  she  smiled  back  to  him  as  if  to  acknowledge  the 
name.     Could  she  read  his  thoughts?  he  wondered. 

It  was  only  a  few  steps  across  the  Square,  and  Mrs. 


200  THE  GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

Benedict  and  her  son  walked  to  Elizabeth's  door  with  her. 
He  had  no  opportunity  to  speak  to  Elizabeth  alone,  but 
he  said  as  he  bade  her  good-night,  ''I  shall  see  you  to- 
morrow, then,  in  the  morning?" 

The  inflection  was  almost  a  question;  but  Elizabeth 
only  said,  ''Good  night,"  and  vanished  into  the  house. 

*'Then  you  have  met  her  before,  George?"  asked  his 
mother  wonderingly. 

''Yes,"  he  answered  hurriedly,  as  if  to  stop  her  further 
question.  "Yes,  I  have  met  her  before.  She  is  very 
beautiful,  mother." 

And  because  the  mother  was  afraid  she  might  say  too 
much  she  assented,  and  h^d  her  peace.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  years  that  George  had  called  a  girl  beautiful. 

Meantime  Elizabeth  had  gone  to  her  own  room  and 
locked  the  door.  She  hardly  knew  what  to  think,  her 
heart  was  so  happy.  Yet  beneath  it  all  was  the  troubled 
thought  of  the  lady,  the  haunting  lady  for  whom  they 
had  prayed  together  on  the  prairie.  And  as  if  to  add  to 
the  thought  she  found  a  bit  of  newspaper  lying  on  the 
floor  beside  her  dressing-table.  Marie  must  have  dropped 
it  as  she  came  in  to  turn  up  the  lights.  It  was  nothing 
but  the  corner  torn  from  a  newspaper,  and  should  be  con- 
signed to  the  waste-basket ;  yet  her  eye  caught  the  words 
in  large  head-lines  as  she  picked  it  up  idly,  "  Miss  Geraldine 
Loring's  Wedding  to  Be  an  Elaborate  Affair."  There 
was  nothing  more  readable.  The  paper  was  torn  in  a 
zigzag  line  just  beneath.  Yet  that  was  enough.  It  re- 
minded her  of  her  duty. 

Down  beside  the  bed  she  knelt,  and  prayed:  "O  my 
Father,  hide  me  now ;  hide  me !  I  am  in  trouble ;  hide  me ! " 
Over  and  over  she  prayed  till  her  heart  grew  calm  and  she 
could  think. 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT  AND    PUESUIT  201 

Then  she  sat  down  quietly,  and  put  the  matter  before 
her. 

This  man  whom  she  loved  with  her  whole  soul  was  to 
be  married  in  a  few  days.  The  world  of  society  would  be 
at  the  wedding.  He  was  pledged  to  another,  and  he  was 
not  hers.  Yet  he  was  her  old  friend,  and  was  coming  to 
see  her.  If  he  came  and  looked  into  her  face  with  those 
clear  eyes  of  his,  he  might  read  in  hers  that  she  loved 
him.     How  dreadful  that  would  be! 

Yes,  she  must  search  yet  deeper.  She  had  heard  the 
glad  ring  in  his  voice  when  he  met  her,  and  said,  "Eliza- 
beth!'' She  had  seen  his  eyes.  He  was  in  danger  him- 
self. She  knew  it;  she  might  not  hide  it  from  herself. 
She  must  help  him  to  be  true  to  the  woman  to  whom  he 
was  pledged,  whom  now  he  would  have  to  marry. 

She  must  go  away  from  it  all.  She  would  run  away, 
now  at  once.  It  seemed  that  she  was  always  running 
away  from  some  one.  She  would  go  back  to  the  moun- 
tains where  she  had  started.  She  was  not  afraid  now  of 
the  man  from  whom  she  had  fled.  Culture  and  education 
had  done  their  work.  Religion  had  set  her  upon  a  rock. 
She  could  go  back  with  the  protection  that  her  money 
would  put  about  her,  with  the  companionship  of  some 
good,  elderly  woman,  and  be  safe  from  harm  in  that  way; 
but  she  could  not  stay  here  and  meet  George  Benedict 
in  the  morning,  nor  face  Geraldine  Loring  on  her  wedding- 
day.  It  would  be  all  the  same  the  facing  whether  she 
were  in  the  wedding-party  or  not.  Her  days  of  mourn- 
ing for  her  grandmother  would  of  course  protect  her  from 
this  public  facing.  It  was  the  thought  she  could  not  bear. 
She  must  get  away  from  it  all  forever. 

Her  lawyers  should  arrange  the  business.  They  would 
purchase  the  house  that   Grandmother  Brady  desired, 


202  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

and  then  give  her  her  money  to  build  a  church.  She 
would  go  back,  and  teach  among  the  lonely  wastes  of 
mountain  and  prairie  what  Jesus  Christ  longed  to  be  to 
the  people  made  in  His  image.  She  would  go  back  and 
place  above  the  graves  of  her  father  and  mother  and 
brothers  stones  that  should  bear  the  words  of  life  to  all 
who  should  pass  by  in  that  desolate  region.  And  that 
should  be  her  excuse  to  the  world  for  going,  if  she  needed 
any  excuse  —  she  had  gone  to  see  about  placing  a  monu- 
ment over  her  father's  grave.  But  the  monument  should 
be  a  church  somewhere  where  it  was  most  needed.  She 
was  resolved  upon  that. 

That  was  a  busy  night.  Marie  was  called  upon  to  pack 
a  few  things  for  a  hurried  journey.  The  telephone  rang, 
and  the  sleepy  night-operator  answered  crossly.  But 
Elizabeth  found  out  all  she  wanted  to  know  about  the 
early  Chicago  trains,  and  then  lay  down  to  rest. 

Early  the  next  morning  George  Benedict  telephoned 
for  some  flowers  from  the  florist ;  and,  when  they  arrived, 
he  pleased  himself  by  taking  them  to  Elizabeth's  door. 

He  did  not  expect  to  find  her  up,  but  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  have  them  reach  her  by  his  own  hand.  They 
would  be  sent  up  to  her  room,  and  she  would  know  in  her 
first  waking  thought  that  he  remembered  her.  He  smiled 
as  he  touched  the  bell  and  stood  waiting. 

The  old  butler  opened  the  door.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  not  fully  finished  his  night's  sleep.  He  listened 
mechanically  to  the  message,  ''For  Miss  Bailey  with  Mr. 
Benedict's  good-morning,"  and  then  his  face  took  on  a 
deprecatory  expression. 

''I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Benedict,'*  he  said,  as  if  in  the  matter 
he  were  personally  to  blame;  "but  she's  just  gone.  Miss 
EHzabeth's  mighty  quick  in  her  ways,  and  last  night  after 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT   AND    PURSUIT  203 

she  come  home  she  decided  to  go  to  Chicago  on  the  early 
train.  She's  just  gone  to  the  station  not  ten  minutes  ago. 
They  was  late,  and  had  to  hurry.  I'm  expecting  the  foot- 
man back  every  minute." 

''Gone?"  said  George  Benedict,  standing  blankly  on 
the  door-step  and  looking  down  the  street  as  if  that 
should  bring  her.     ''Gone?    To  Chicago,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she's  gone  to  Chicago.  That  is,  she's  going 
further,  but  she  took  the  Chicago  Limited.  She's  gone 
to  see  about  a  monument  for  Madam's  son  John,  Miss 
'Lizabuth's  father.  She  said  she  must  go  at  once,  and 
she  went." 

"What  time  does  that  train  leave?"  asked  the  young 
man.  It  was  a  thread  of  hope.  He  was  stung  into  a 
superhuman  effort  as  he  had  been  on  the  prairie  when  he 
had  caught  the  flying  vision  of  the  girl  and  horse,  and  he 
had  shouted,  and  she  would  not  stop  for  him. 

"Nine-fifty,  sir,"  said  the  butler.  He  wished  this  ex- 
cited young  man  would  go  after  her.  She  needed  some 
one.  His  heart  had  often  stirred  against  fate  that  this 
pearl  among  young  mistresses  should  have  no  intimate 
friend  or  lover  now  in  her  loneliness. 

"Nine-fifty!"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  No  chance! 
"Broad  Street?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Would  there  be  a  chance  if  he  had  his  automobile? 
Possibly,  but  hardly  unless  the  train  was  late.  There 
would  be  a  trifle  more  chance  of  catching  the  train  at 
West  Philadelphia.  O  for  his  automobile!  He  turned 
to  the  butler  in  despair. 

"Telephone  her!"  he  said.  "Stop  her  if  you  possibly 
can  on  board  the  train,  and  I  will  try  to  get  there.  I 
must  see  her.     It  is  important."    He  started  down  the 


204  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

steps,  his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  trouble.  How  should  he  go? 
The  trolley  would  be  the  only  available  way,  and  yet  the 
trolley  would  be  useless;  it  would  take  too  long.  Never- 
theless, he  sped  down  toward  Chestnut  Street  blindly, 
and  now  in  his  despair  his  new  habit  came  to  him.  ''0 
my  Father,  help  me!    Help  me!    Save  her  for  me!" 

Up  Walnut  Street  at  a  breakneck  pace  came  a  flaming 
red  automobile,  sounding  its  taunting  menace,  '^  Honk- 
honk!  Honk-honk!"  but  George  Benedict  stopped  not 
for  automobiles.  Straight  into  the  jaws  of  death  he 
rushed,  and  was  saved  only  by  the  timely  grasp  of  a 
policeman,  who  rolled  him  over  on  the  ground.  The 
machine  came  to  a  halt,  and  a  familiar  voice  shouted: 
"Conscience  alive,  George,  is  that  you?  What  are  you 
trying  to  do?  Say,  but  that  was  a  close  shave!  Where 
you  going  in  such  a  hurry,  anyway?  Hustle  in,  and  I'll 
take  you  there." 

The  young  man  sprang  into  the  seat,  and  gasped: 
*'West  Philadelphia  station,  Chicago  Limited!  Hurry! 
Train  leaves  Broad  Street  station  at  nine-fifty.  Get  me 
there  if  you  can,  Billy.     I'll  be  your  friend  forever." 

By  this  time  they  were  speeding  fast.  Neither  of  the 
two  had  time  to  consider  which  station  was  the  easier  to 
make;  and,  as  the  machine  was  headed  toward  West 
Philadelphia,  on  they  went,  regardless  of  laws  or  vainly 
shouting  policemen. 

George  Benedict  sprang  from  the  car  before  it  had 
stopped,  and  nearly  fell  again.  His  nerves  were  not 
steady  from  his  other  fall  yet.  He  tore  into  the  station 
and  out  through  the  passageway  past  the  beckoning  hand 
of  the  ticket-man  who  sat  in  the  booth  at  the  staircase, 
and  strode  up  three  steps  at  a  time.  The  guard  shouted: 
"Hurry!     You  may  get  it;  she's  just  starting!"  and  a 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT  AND    PURSUIT  205 

friendly  hand  reached  out,  and  hauled  him  up  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  last  car. 

For  an  instant  after  he  was  safely  in  the  car  he  was  too 
dazed  to  think.  It  seemed  as  if  he  must  keep  on  blindly 
rushing  through  that  train  all  the  way  to  Chicago,  or  she 
would  get  away  from  him.  He  sat  down  in  an  empty 
seat  for  a  minute  to  get  his  senses.  He  was  actually  on 
the  train!     It  had  not  gone  without  him! 

Now  the  next  question  was,  Was  she  on  it  herself,  or 
had  she  in  some  way  slipped  from  his  grasp  even  yet? 
The  old  butler  might  have  caught  her  by  telephone.  He 
doubted  it.  He  knew  her  stubborn  determination,  and 
all  at  once  he  began  to  suspect  that  she  was  with  intention 
running  away  from  him,  and  perhaps  had  been  doing  so 
before!  It  was  an  astonishing  thought  and  a  grave  one, 
yet,  if  it  were  true,  what  had  meant  that  welcoming  smile 
in  her  eyes  that  had  been  like  dear  sunshine  to  his  heart? 

But  there  was  no  time  to  consider  such  questions  now. 
He  had  started  on  this  quest,  and  he  must  continue  it 
until  he  found  her.  Then  she  should  be  made  to  explain 
once  and  for  all  most  fully.  He  would  live  through  no 
more  torturing  agonies  of  separation  without  a  full  under- 
standing of  the  matter.  He  got  upon  his  shaking  feet, 
and  started  to  hunt  for  Elizabeth. 

Then  all  at  once  he  became  aware  that  he  was  still 
carr3dng  the  box  of  flowers.  Battered  and  out  of  shape 
it  was,  but  he  was  holding  it  as  if  it  held  the  very  hope 
of  life  for  him.  He  smiled  grimly  as  he  tottered  shakily 
down  the  aisle,  grasping  his  floral  offering  w4th  deter- 
mination. This  was  not  exactly  the  morning  call  he  had 
planned,  nor  the  way  he  had  expected  to  present  his 
flowers;  but  it  seemed  to  be  the  best  he  could  do.  Then, 
at  last,  in  the  very  furthest  car  from  the  end,  in  the 


206  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

drawing-room  he  found  her,  sitting  gray  and  sorrowful, 
looking  at  the  fast-flying  landscape. 

^'Elizabeth!''  He  stood  in  the  open  door  and  called 
to  her;  and  she  started  as  from  a  deep  sleep,  her  face  blaz- 
ing into  glad  sunshine  at  sight  of  him.  She  put  her  hand 
to  her  heart,  and  smiled. 

"I  have  brought  you  some  flowers,'*  he  said  grimly. 
"I  am  afraid  there  isn't  much  left  of  them  now;  but,  such 
as  they  are,  they  are  here.     I  hope  you  will  accept  them." 

^'Oh!"  gasped  Elizabeth,  reaching  out  for  the  poor 
crushed  roses  as  if  they  had  been  a  little  child  in  danger. 
She  drew  them  from  the  battered  box  and  to  her  arms 
with  a  delicious  movement  of  caressing,  as  if  she  would 
make  up  to  them  for  all  they  had  come  through.  He 
watched  her,  half  pleased,  half  savagely.  Why  should 
all  that  tenderness  be  wasted  on  mere  fading  flowers? 

At  last  he  spoke,  interrupting  her  brooding  over  his  roses. 

"You  are  running  away  from  me!"  he  charged. 

"Well,  and  what  if  I  am?"  She  looked  at  him  with  a 
loving  defiance  in  her  eyes. 

"Don't  you  know  I  love  you?"  he  asked,  sitting  down 
beside  her  and  talking  low  and  almost  fiercely.  "Don't 
you  know  I've  been  torn  away  from  you,  or  you  from  me, 
twice  before  now,  and  that  I  cannot  stand  it  any  more? 
Say,  don't  you  know  it?  Answer,  please!"  The  demand 
was  kind,  but  peremptory. 

"I  was  afraid  so,"  she  murmured  with  drooping  eyes, 
and  cheeks  from  which  all  color  had  fled. 

"Well,  why  do  you  do  it?  Why  did  you  run  away? 
Don't  you  care  for  me?  Tell  me  that.  If  you  can't  ever 
love  me,  you  are  excusable;  but  I  must  know  it  all  now." 

"Yes,  I  care  as  much  as  you,"  she  faltered,  "but " 

"But  what?"  sharply. 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT  AND    PURSUIT  207 

"But  you  are  going  to  be  married  this  week/*  she  said 
in  desperation,  raising  her  miserable  eyes  to  his. 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

'*Am  I?"  said  he.  ''Well,  that's  news  to  me;  but  it's 
the  best  news  I've  heard  in  a  long  time.  When  does  the 
ceremony  come  off?  I  wish  it  was  this  morning.  Make 
it  this  morning,  will  you?  Let's  stop  this  blessed  old 
train  and  go  back  to  the  Doctor.  He'll  fix  it  so  we  can't 
ever  run  away  from  each  other  again.  Elizabeth,  look 
at  me!" 

But  Elizabeth  hid  her  eyes  now.   They  were  full  of  tears. 

"But  the  lady — "  she  gasped  out,  struggUng  with  the 
sobs.  She  was  so  weary,  and  the  thought  of  what  he 
had  suggested  was  so  precious. 

"  What  lady?  There  is  no  lady  but  you,  Elizabeth,  and 
never  has  been.  Haven't  you  known  that  for  a  long  time? 
I  have.  That  was  all  a  hallucination  of  my  foolish  brain. 
I  had  to  go  out  on  the  plains  to  get  rid  of  it,  but  I  left  it 
there  forever.     She  was  nothing  to  me  after  I  saw  you." 

"But  —  but  people  said  —  and  it  was  in  the  paper. 
I  saw  it.  You  cannot  desert  her  now;  it  would  be  dis- 
honorable." 

"Thunder!"  ejaculated  the  distracted  young  man. 
"  In  the  paper!     What  lady?  " 

"Why,  Miss  Loring!  Geraldine  Loring.  I  saw  that 
the  preparations  were  all  made  for  her  wedding,  and  I 
was  told  she  was  to  marry  you." 

In  sheer  relief  he  began  to  laugh. 

At  last  he  stopped,  as  the  old  hurt  look  spread  over  her 
face. 

"Excuse  me,  dear,"  he  said  gently,  "There  was  a  little 
acquaintance  between  Miss  Loring  and  myself.  It  only 
amounted  to  a  flirtation  on  her  part,  one  of  many.     It 


208  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

was  a  great  distress  to  my  mother,  and  I  went  out  West, 
as  you  know,  to  get  away  from  her.  I  knew  she  would 
only  bring  me  unhappiness,  and  she  was  not  willing  to 
give  up  some  of  her  ways  that  were  impossible.  I  am 
glad  and  thankful  that  God  saved  me  from  her.  I  be- 
lieve she  is  going  to  marry  a  distant  relative  of  mine  by 
the  name  of  Benedict,  but  I  thank  the  kind  Father  that 
/  am  not  going  to  marry  her.  There  is  only  one  woman 
in  the  whole  wide  world  that  I  am  willing  to  marry,  or 
ever  will  be;  and  she  is  sitting  beside  me  now.'' 

The  train  was  going  rapidly  now.  It  would  not  be 
long  before  the  conductor  would  reach  them.  The  man 
leaned  over,  and  clasped  the  little  gloved  hand  that  lay 
in  the  girl's  lap;  and  Elizabeth  felt  the  great  joy  that  had 
tantalized  her  for  these  three  years  in  dreams  and  visions 
settle  down  about  her  in  beautiful  reality.  She  was  his 
now  forever.     She  need  never  run  away  again. 

The  conductor  was  not  long  in  coming  to  them,  and  the 
matter-of-fact  world  had  to  be  faced  once  more.  The 
young  man  produced  his  card,  and  said  a  few  words  to 
the  conductor,  mentioning  the  name  of  his  uncle,  who, 
by  the  way,  happened  to  be  a  director  of  the  road;  and 
then  he  explained  the  situation.  It  was  very  necessary 
that  the  young  lady  be  recalled  at  once  to  her  home  be- 
cause of  a  change  in  the  circumstances.  He  had  caught 
the  train  at  West  Philadelphia  by  automobile,  coming  as 
he  was  in  his  morning  clothes,  without  baggage  and  with 
little  money.  Would  the  conductor  be  so  kind  as  to  put 
them  off  that  they  might  return  to  the  city  by  the  shortest 
possible  route? 

The  conductor  glared  and  scolded,  and  said  people 
''didn't  know  their  own  minds,"  and  "wanted  to  move 
the  earth."    Then  he  eyed  Elizabeth,  and  she  smiled. 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT   AND    PURSUIT  209 

He  let  a  grim  glimmer  of  what  might  have  been  a  sour 
smile  years  ago  peep  out  for  an  instant,  and  —  he  let 
them  off. 

They  wandered  delightedly  about  from  one  trolley  to 
another  until  they  found  an  automobile  garage,  and  soon 
were  speeding  back  to  Philadelphia. 

They  waited  for  no  ceremony,  these  two  who  had  met 
and  loved  by  the  way  in  the  wilderness.  They  went 
straight  to  Mrs.  Benedict  for  her  blessing,  and  then  to 
the  minister  to  arrange  for  his  services;  and  within  the 
week  a  quiet  wedding-party  entered  the  arched  doors  of 
the  placid  brown  church  with  the  lofty  spire,  and  Eliza- 
beth Bailey  and  George  Benedict  were  united  in  the 
sacred  bonds  of  matrimony. 

There  were  present  Mrs.  Benedict  and  one  or  two  inti- 
mate friends  of  the  family,  besides  Grandmother  Brady, 
Aunt  Nan,  and  Lizzie. 

Lizzie  brought  a  dozen  bread-and-butter-plates  from 
the  ten-cent  store.  They  were  adorned  with  cupids  and 
roses  and  much  gilt.  But  Lizzie  was  disappointed.  No 
display,  no  pomp  and  ceremony.  Just  a  simple  white 
dress  and  white  veil.  Lizzie  did  not  understand  that  the 
veil  had  been  in  the  Bailey  family  for  generations,  and 
that  the  dress  was  an  heirloom  also.  It  was  worn  because 
Grandmother  Bailey  had  given  it  to  her,  and  told  her  she 
wanted  her  to  wear  it  on  her  wedding-day.  Sweet  and 
beautiful  she  looked  as  she  turned  to  walk  down  the  aisle 
on  her  husband's  arm,  and  she  smiled  at  Grandmother 
Brady  in  a  way  that  filled  the  grandmother's  heart  with 
pride  and  triumph.  Elizabeth  was  not  ashamed  of  the 
Bradys  even  among  her  fine  friends.  But  Lizzie  grumbled 
all  the  way  home  at  the  plainness  of  the  ceremony,  and 
the  lack  of  bridesmaids  and  fuss  and  feathers. 


210  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

The  social  column  of  the  daily  papers  stated  that  young 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Benedict  were  spending  their  honey- 
moon in  an  extended  tour  of  the  West,  and  Grandmother 
Brady  so  read  it  aloud  at  the  breakfast  table  to  the  admir- 
ing family.     Only  Lizzie  looked  discontented: 

"  She  just  wore  a  dark  blue  tricotine  one-piece  dress 
and  a  little  plain  dark  hat.  She  ain't  got  a  bit  of  taste. 
Oh  Boy!  If  I  just  had  her  pocket  book  wouldn't  I  show 
the  world  ?  But  anyhow  I'm  glad  she  went  in  a  private  car. 
There  was  a  little  class  to  her,  though  if  t'had  been  mine 
I'd  uv  preferred  ridin'  in  the  parlor  coach  an'  havin'  folks 
see  me  and  my  fine  husband.  He's  some  looker,  George 
Benedict  is !  Everybody  turns  to  watch  'em  as  they  go  by, 
and  they  just  sail  along  and  never  seem  to  notice.  It's 
all  perfectly  throwed  away  on  'em.  Gosh!  I'd  hate  to  be 
such  a  nut!" 

"Now,  Lizzie,  you  know  you  hadn't  oughtta  talk  like 
that!"  reproved  her  grandmother,  "After  her  giving  you 
all  that  money  fer  your  own  wedding.  A  thousand  dollars 
just  to  spend  as  you  please  on  your  does  and  a  blow  out, 
and  house  linens.  Jest  because  she  don't  care  for  gewgaws 
like  you  do,  you  think  she's  a  fool.  But  she's  no  fool. 
She's  got  a  good  head  on  her,  and  she'll  get  more  in  the 
long  run  out  of  life  than  you  will.  She's  been  real  loving 
and  kind  to  us  all,  and  she  didn't  have  any  reason 
to  neither.  We  never  did  much  fer  her.  And  look  at 
how  nice  and  common  she's  been  with  us  all,  not  a  bit 
high  headed.  I  declare,  Lizzie,  I  should  think  you'd 
be  ashamed!" 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Lizzie  shrugging  her  shoulders  indif- 
ferently, "She's  all  right  in  her  way,  only  'taint  my  way. 
And  I'm  thankful  t'goodness  that  I  had  the  nerve  to 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT  AND   PURSUIT  211 

speak  up  when  she  offered  to  give  me  my  trousseau.  She 
askt  me  would  I  druther  hav  her  buy  it  for  me,  or  have 
the  money  and  pick  it  out  m'self,  and  I  spoke  up  right 
quick  and  says,  'Oh,  cousin  Bessie,  I  wouldn't  thinJc  of 
givin'  ya  all  that  trouble.  I'd  take  the  money  ef  it's  all 
the  same  t'you,'  and  she  jest  smiled  and  said  all  right,  she 
expected  I  knew  what  I  wanted  better'n  she  did.  So 
yes'teddy  when  I  went  down  to  the  station  to  see  her  off 
she  handed  me  a  bank  book.  And — Oh,  say,  I  fergot! 
She  said  there  was  a  good-bye  note  inside.  I  ain't  had 
time  to  look  at  it  since.  I  went  right  to  the  movies  on  the 
dead  run  to  get  there  'fore  the  first  show  begun,  and  it's  in 
my  coat  pocket.  Wait  'till  I  get  it.  I  spose  it's  some  of  her 
old  religion!  She's  always  preaching  at  me.  It  ain't  that 
she  says  so  much  as  that  she's  always  meanin'  it  underneath 
everything,  that  gets  my  goat!  It's  sorta  like  having  a 
piece  of  God  round  with  you  all  the  time  watching  you.  You 
kinda  hate  to  be  enjoyin'  yerseif  fer  fear  she  won't  think 
yer  doin'  it  accordin'  to  the  Bible." 

Lizzie  hurtled  into  the  hall  and  brought  back  her  coat, 
fumbling  in  the  pocket. 

"  Yes,  here  'tis  ma !  Wanta  see  the  figgers  ?  You  never 
had  a  whole  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank  t'woncet  yerseif, 
didya?" 

Mrs.  Brady  put  on  her  spectacles  and  reached  for  the 
book,  while  Lizzie's  mother  got  up  and  came  behind  her 
mother's  chair  to  look  over  at  the  magic  figures.  Lizzie 
stooped  for  the  little  white  note  that  had  fluttered  to  her 
feet  as  she  opened  the  book,  but  she  had  little  interest  to 
see  what  it  said.  She  was  more  intent  upon  the  new 
bank  book. 


212  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

It  was  Grandmother  Brady  that  discovered  it: 
"  Why,  Lizzie !  It  ain't  one  thousand,  it's  five  thousand, 

the  book  says!     You  don't  'spose  she's  made  a  mistake, 

do  you?" 

Lizzie  seized  the  book  and  gazed,  her  jaw  dropping  open 

in  amaze.     "Let  me  have  it !"  demanded  Lizzie's  mother, 

reaching  for  the  book. 

"Where's  yer  note,  Lizzie,  mebbe  it'll  explain,^'  said 

the  excited  Grandmother. 

Lizzie  recovered  the  note  which  again  had  fluttered  to 

the  floor  in  the  confusion  and  opening  it  began  to  read : 

''Dear  Lizzie,"  it  read 

"  I've  made  it  five  thousand  so  you  will  have  some  over 
for  furnishing  your  home,  and  if  you  still  think  you 
want  the  little  bungalow  out  on  the  Pike  you  will  find  the 
deed  at  my  lawyer's,  all  made  out  in  your  name.  It's  my 
wedding  gift  to  you,  so  you  can  go  to  work  and  buy  your 
furniture  at  once,  and  not  wait  till  Dan  gets  a  raise. 
And  here's  wishing  you  a  great  deal  of  happiness, 

'TTour  loving  cousin, 

"Elizabeth." 

"There!'*  said  Grandmother  Brady  sitting  back  with 
satisfaction  and  holding  her  hands  composedly,  "Whadd'  I 
tellya?" 

"  Mercy !"  said  Lizzie's  mother,  "Let  me  see  that  note ! 
The  idea  of  her  giving  all  that  money  when  she  didn't 
have  to !" 

But  Lizzie's  face  was  a  picture  of  joy.  For  once  she  lost 
her  hard  little  worldly  screwed-up  expression  and  was 
wreathed  in  smiles  of  genuine  eagerness: 


A  FINAL  FUGHT  AND  PURSUIT  213 

"Oh  Boy!"  she  exclaimed  delightedly,  dancing  around 
the  room,  "Now  we  can  have  a  victrola,  an'  a  player-piano, 
and  Dan'll  get  a  Ford,  one  o'  those  limousine-kind! 
Won't  I  be  some  swell?  What'll  the  girls  at  the  store 
think  now?" 

*'  H'm !  You'd  much  better  get  a  washing  machine  and 
a  'lectric  iron !"  grumbled  Grandmother  Brady  practically. 

"  Well,  all  I  got  to  say  about  it  is,  she  was  an  awful 
fool  to  trust  you  with  so  much  money,''  said  Lizzie's 
mother  discontentedly,  albeit  with  a  pleased  pride  as  she 
watched  her  giddy  daughter  fling  on  hat  and  coat  to  go 
down  and  tell  Dan. 

"  I  sh'll  work  in  the  store  fer  the  rest  of  the  week,  jest 
to  'commodate  'em,"  she  announced  putting  her  head  back 
in  the  door  as  she  went  out,  "but  not  a  day  longer.  I  got 
a  lot  t'do.  Say,  won't  I  be  some  lady  in  the  five-an'-ten 
the  rest  o'  the  week?    Oh  Boy!    I'll  tell  the  world!" 

Meantime  in  their  own  private  car  the  bride  and  groom 
were  whirled  on  their  way  to  the  west,  but  they  saw  little 
of  the  scenery,  being  engaged  in  the  all-absorbing  story  of 
each  other's  lives  since  they  had  parted. 

And  one  bright  morning,  they  stepped  down  from  the 
train  at  Malta  and  gazed  about  them. 

The  I  sun  was  shining  clear  and  wonderful,  and  the 
little  brown  station  stood  drearily  against  the  brightness 
of  the  day  like  a  picture  that  has  long  hung  on  the  wall 
of  one's  memory  and  is  suddenly  brought  out  and  the  dust 
wiped  away. 

They  purchased  a  couple  of  horses,  and  with  camp 
accoutrements  following  began  their  real  wedding  trip, 
over  the  road  they  had  come  together  when  they  first  met. 
Elizabeth  had  to  show  her  husband  where  she  had  hidden 


214  THE  GIRL  FROM   MONTANA 

while  the  men  went  by,  and  he  drew  her  close  in  his  arms 
and  thanked  God  that  she  had  escaped  so  miraculously. 

It  seemed  so  wonderful  to  be  in  the  same  places  again, 
for  nothing  out  here  in  the  wilderness  seemed  much  to 
have  changed,  and  yet  they  two  were  so  changed  that  the 
people  they  met  did  not  seem  to  recognize  them  as  ever 
having  been  that  way  before. 

They  dined  sumptuously  in  the  same  coulee,  and  re- 
called little  things  they  had  said  and  done,  and  Elizabeth 
now  worldly  wise,  laughed  at  her  own  former  ignorance  as 
her  husband  reminded  her  of  some  questions  she  had  asked 
him  on  that  memorable  journey.  And  ever  through  the 
beautiful  journey  he  was  telling  her  how  wonderful  she 
seemed  to  him,  both  then  and  now. 

Not  however,  till  they  reached  the  old  ranchhouse,  where 
the  woman  had  tried  to  persuade  her  to  stay,  did  they 
stop  for  long. 

Elizabeth  had  a  tender  feeling  in  her  heart  for  that 
motherly  woman  who  had  sought  to  protect  her,  and  felt 
a  longing  to  let  her  know  how  safely  she  had  been  kept 
through  the  long  journey  and  how  good  the  Lord  had  been  to 
her  through  the  years.  Also  they  both  desired  to  reward 
these  kind  people  for  their  hospitality  in  the  time  of  need. 
So,  in  the  early  evening  they  rode  up  just  as  they  did  before 
to  the  little  old  log  house.  But  no  friendly  door  flung 
open  wide  as  they  came  near,  and  at  first  they  thought  the 
cabin  deserted,  till  a  candle  flare  suddenly  shone  forth  in 
the  bedroom,  and  then  Benedict  dismounted  and  knocked. 

After  some  waiting  the  old  man  came  to  the  door 
holding  a  candle  high  above  his  head.  His  face  was  hag- 
gard and  worn,  and  the  whole  place  looked  dishevelled. 
His  eyes  had  a  weary  look  as  he  peered  into  the  night  and 


A   FINAL   FLIGHT  AND   PURSUIT  213 

it  was  evident  that  he  had  no  thought  of  ever  having  seen 
them  before: 

"  I  can't  do  much  fer  ya,  strangers/'  he  said,  his  yoice 
sounding  tired  and  discouraged.  "If  it's  a  woman  ye  have 
with  ye,  ye  hetter  ride  on  to  the  next  ranch.  My  woman  is 
sick.  Very  sick.  There's  nobody  here  with  her  but  me,  and 
I  have  all  I  can  tend  to.  The  house  ain't  kept  very  tidy. 
It's  six  weeks  since  she  took  to  bed." 

Elizabeth  had  sprung  Lightly  to  the  ground  and  was  now 
at  the  threshold: 

"  Oh,  is  she  sick  ?  I'm  so  sorry  ?  Couldn't  I  do  some- 
thing for  her  ?     She  was  good  to  me  once  several  years  ago !" 

The  old  man  peered  at  her  blmkingly,  noting  her 
slender  beauty,  the  exquisite  eager  face,  the  dress  that 
showed  her  of  another  world — and  shook  his  head : 

*^  I  guess  you  made  a  mistake,  lady.  I  don't  remember 
ever  seeing  you  before — " 

"But  I  remember  you,"  she  said  eagerly  stepping  into 
the  room,  "Won't  you  please  let  me  go  to  her  ?" 

"  Why,  shore,  lady,  go  right  in  ef  you  want  to.  She's 
layin'  there  in  the  bed.  She  ain't  likely  to  get  out  of  it 
again'  I'm  feared.  The  doctor  says  nothin'  but  a  *nop- 
eration  will  ever  get  her  up,  and  we  can't  pay  fer  'nopera- 
tions.  It's  a  long  ways  to  the  hospital  in  Chicago  where  he 
wants  her  sent,  and  M'ria  and  I,  we  ain't  allowin'  to  part. 
It  can't  be  many  years — '* 

But  Elizabeth  was  not  waiting  to  hear.  She  had  slip- 
ped into  the  old  bedroom  that  she  remembered  now  so  well 
and  was  kneeling  beside  the  bed  talking  to  the  white  faced 
woman  on  the  thin  pillow : 

Don't  you  remember  me,"  she  asked,  "I'm  the  girl 
you  tried  to  get  to  stay  with  you  once.     The  girl  that  came 


216  THE   GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

here  with  a  man  she  had  met  in  the  wilderness.  You  told 
me  things  that  I  didn't  know,  and  you  were  kind  and  wanted 
me  to  stay  here  with  you  ?  Don't  you  remember  me  ?  I'm 
Elizabeth!" 

The  woman  reached  out  a  bony  hand  and  touched  the 
fair  young  face  that  she  could  see  but  dimly  in  the  flare  of 
the  candle  that  the  old  man  now  brought  into  the  room : 

''  Why,  yes,  I  remember,"  the  woman  said,  her  voice 
sounded  alive  yet  in  spite  of  her  illness,  "Yes,  I  remember 
you.  You  were  a  dear  little  girl,  and  I  was  so  worried 
about  you.  I  would  have  kept  you  for  my  own — but  you 
wouldn't  stay.  And  he  was  a  nice  looking  young  man,  but 
I  was  afraid  for  you — You  can't  always  tell  about  them — 
You  mostly  can't — !" 

"  But  he  was  all  right  Mother !"  Elizabeth's  voice  rang 
joyously  through  the  cabin,  "He  took  care  of  me  and  got 
me  safely  started  toward  my  people,  and  now  he's  my  hus- 
band.   I  want  you  to  see  him.    George  come  here  !'^ 

The  old  woman  half  raised  herself  from  the  pillow  and 
looked  toward  the  young  man  in  the  doorway : 

"You  don't  say !  'Rq^q  ^ouy  husband!  Well,  now  isn't 
that  grand!  Well,  I  certainly  am  glad!  I  was  that 
worried — !" 

They  sat  around  the  bed  talking,  Elizabeth  telling 
briefly  of  her  own  experiences  and  her  wedding  trip  which 
they  were  taking  back  over  the  old  trail,  and  the  old  man 
and  woman  speaking  of  their  trouble,  the  woman's  break- 
down and  how  the  doctor  at  Malta  said  there  was  a  chance 
she  could  get  well  if  she  went  to  a  great  doctor  in  Chicago, 
but  how  they  had  no  money  unless  they  sold  the  ranch 
and  that  nobody  wanted  to  buy  it. 

"  Oh,  but  we  have  money,"  laughed  Elizabeth  joyously, 


A  FINAL   FLIGHT  AND  PURSUIT  217 

"and  it  is  our  turn  now  to  help  you.  You  helped  us  when 
we  were  in  trouble.  How  soon  can  you  start?  I'm  going 
to  play  you  are  my  own  father  and  mother.  We  can  send 
them  both,  can't  we  George  ?" 

It  was  a  long  time  before  they  settled  themselves  to 
sleep  that  night  because  there  was  so  much  planning  to  be 
done,  and  then  Elizabeth  and  her  husband  had  to  get 
out  their  stores  and  cook  a  good  supper  for  the  two  old 
people  who  had  been  living  mostly  on  com  meal  mush  for 
several  weeks. 

And  after  the  others  were  all  asleep  the  old  woman 
lay  praying  and  thanking  God  for  the  two  angels  who  had 
dropped  down  to  help  them  in  their  distress. 

The  next  morning  George  Benedict  with  one  of  the  men 
who  looked  after  their  camping  outfit  went  to  Malta  and 
got  in  touch  with  the  Chicago  doctor  and  hospital,  and 
before  he  came  back  to  the  ranch  that  night  everything 
was  arranged  for  the  immediate  start  of  the  two  old  people 
He  had  even  planned  for  an  automobile  and  the  Malta 
doctor  to  be  in  attendance  in  a  couple  of  days  to  get  the 
invalid  to  the  station. 

Meantime  Elizabeth  had  been  going  over  the  old  wo- 
man's wardrobe  which  was  scanty  and  coarse,  and  selecting 
garments  from  her  own  baggage  that  would  do  for 
the  journey. 

The  old  woman  looked  glorified  as  she  touched  the  del- 
icate white  garments  with  their  embroidery  and  ribbons: 

"Oh,  dear  child!  Why,  I  couldn't  wear  a  thing  like 
that  on  my  old  worn-out  body.  Those  look  like  angels' 
clothes.  She  put  a  work-worn  finger  on  the  delicate  tracery 
of  embroidery  and  smoothed  a  pink  satin  ribbon  bow. 

But  Elizabeth  overruled  her.     It  was  nothing  but  a 


218  THE   GIRL   FROM   MONTANA 

plain  little  garment  she  had  bought  for  the  trip.  If  the 
friend  thought  it  was  pretty  she  was  glad,  but  nothing  was 
too  pretty  for  the  woman  who  had  taken  her  in  in  her  dis- 
tress and  tried  to  help  her  and  keep  her  safe. 

The  invalid  was  thin  with  her  illness,  and  it  was  found 
that  she  could  easily  wear  the  girPs  simple  dress  of  dark 
blue  with  a  white  collar,  and  little  dark  hat,  and  Eliza- 
beth donned  a  khaki  skirt  and  brown  cap  and  sweater  her- 
self and  gladly  arrayed  her  old  friend  in  her  own  bridal 
travelling  gown  for  her  journey.  She  had  not  brought  a 
lot  of  things  for  her  journey  because  she  did  not  want  to 
be  bothered,  but  she  could  easily  get  more  when  she  got  to 
a  large  city,  and  what  was  money  for  but  to  cloth  the 
naked  and  feed  the  hungry?  She  rejoiced  in  her  ability 
to  help  this  woman  of  the  wilderness. 

On  the  third  day,  garbed  in  Elizabeth's  clothes,  her 
husband  fitted  out  for  the  east  in  some  of  George  Beite- 
dict's  extra  things,  they  started.  They  carried  a  bag  con- 
taining some  necessary  changes,  and  some  wonderful  toilet 
accesories  with  silver  monograms,  enough  to  puzzle  the 
most  snobbish  nurse,  also  there  was  a  luscious  silk  kimona 
of  Elizabeth's  in  the  bag.  The  two  old  people  were  settled 
in  the  Benedict  private  car,  and  in  due  time  hitched  on  to 
the  Chicago  express  and  hurried  on  their  way.  Before  the 
younger  pair  went  back  to  their  pilgrimage  they  sent  a 
series  of  telegrams  arranging  for  every  detail  of  the  jour- 
ney for  the  old  couple,  so  that  they  would  be  met  with  cars 
and  nurses  and  looked  after  most  carefully. 

And  the  thanksgiving  and  praise  of  the  old  people 
seemed  to  follow  them  like  music  as  they  rode  happib' 
on  their  way. 


A   FINAL  FLIGHT  AND   PURSUIT  219 

They  paused  at  the  little  old  school  house  where  they 
had  attended  the  Christian  Endeavor  meeting,  and 
Elizabeth  looked  half  fearfully  up  the  road  where  her 
evil  pursuers  had  ridden  by,  and  rode  closer  to  her  hus^ 
band's  side.  So  they  passed  on  the  way  as  nearly  as 
Elizabeth  could  remember  every  step  back  as  she  had  come, 
telling  her  husband  all  the  details  of  the  journey. 

That  night  they  camped  in  the  little  shelter  where 
Benedict  had  come  upon  the  girl  that  first  time  they  met, 
and  under  the  clear  stars  that  seemed  so  near  they  knelt 
together  and  thanked  God  for  His  leading. 

They  went  to  the  lonely  cabin  on  the  mountain,  shut  up 
and  going  to  ruin  now,  and  Benedict  gazing  at  the  sur- 
roundings and  then  looking  at  the  delicate  face  of  his 
lovely  wife  was  reminded  of  a  white  flower  he  had  once 
seen  growing  out  of  the  blackness  down  in  a  coal  mine, 
pure  and  clean  without  a  smirch  of  soil. 

They  yisited  the  seven  graves  in  the  wilderness,  and 
standing  reverently  beside  the  sand-blown  mounds  she 
told  him  much  of  her  early  life  that  she  had  not  told  him 
before,  and  introduced  him  to  her  family,  telling  a  bit 
about  each  that  would  make  him  see  the  loveable  side  of 
them.  And  then  they  planned  for  seven  simple  white 
stones  to  be  set  up,  bearing  words  from  the  book  they 
both  loved.  Over  the  care  worn  mother  was  to  be  written 
'^  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden  and 
I  will  give  you  rest.'* 

It  was  on  that  trip  that  they  planned  what  came  to  pass 
in  due  time.  The  little  cabin  was  made  over  into  a  simple, 
pretty  home,  with  vines  planted  about  the  garden,  and  a 

^rage  with  a  sturdy  little  car;  and  not  far  away  a  church 
tied  into  the  side  of  the  hill,  built  out  of  the  stones  that 


220  THE  GIRL  FROM  MONTANA 

were  native,  with  many  sunny  windows  and  a  belfry  in 
which  bells  rang  out  to  the  whole  region  round. 

At  first  it  had  seemed  impractical  to  put  a  church  out 
there  away  from  the  town,  but  Elizabeth  said  that  it  was 
centrally  located,  and  high  up  where  it  could  be  seen  from 
the  settlements  in  the  valleys,  and  was  moreover  on  a  main 
trail  that  was  much  travelled.  She  longed  to  have  some 
such  spot  in  the  wilderness  that  could  be  a  refuge  for  any 
who  longed  for  better  things. 

When  they  went  back  they  sent  out  two  consecrated 
missionaries  to  occupy  the  new  house  and  use  the  sturdy 
little  car.  They  were  to  ring  the  bells,  preach  the  gospel 
and  play  the  organ  and  piano  in  the  little  church. 

Over  the  pulpit  there  was  a  beautiful  window  bearing 
a  picture  of  Christ,  the  Good  Shepherd,  and  in  clear  letters 
above  were  the  words:  *'And  thou  shalt  remember  all  the 
way  which  the  Lord  thy  God  led  thee  these  forty  years  in 
the  wilderness,  to  humble  thee,  and  to  prove  thee,  to  know 
what  was  in  thine  heart,  whether  thou  wouldst  keep  his 
commandments,  or  no." 

And  underneath  the  picture  were  the  words: 

"  'In  the  time  of  trouble  He  shall  hide  me  in  His  pavil- 
ion; in  the  secret  of  his  tabernacle  shall  he  hide  me.'  In 
memory  of  His  hidings, 

^'George  and  Elizabeth  Benedict.'* 
But  in  the  beautiful  home  in  Philadelphia,  in  an  inner 
intimate  room  these  words  are  exquisitely  graven  on  the 
wall,  "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.'* 


'  f\M  t  VWI 1  «  ■ 


•M  M>#l1f     aJVI 


^lUBRARYQr 
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University  of  California  Library 
^^^^  Los  Angeles 

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e  'HiMa  ■  i-^  ^'*^  i!?^  r^^n  ^J5«*>. 


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